\J 


/ 


fy-^^^^    ^«_^2^^ 


IDYLS  OF  THE  KING. 


IDYLS   OF    THE    KING 


BY 


ALFRED     TENNYSON,  D.  C.  L., 

POKT  LAURKATE. 


"  Flos  Regvim  Arthurus."' 

Joseph  of  Exetee. 


BOSTON: 
TICK  NOR     ANr>     FIELDS, 


M  DCCC  LIX. 


AUTHOR  S    EDITIOX. 


5' 


\f 


University  Press,  Cambridge : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welcb,  Bigelovr,  &  Co. 


h 
TS 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Enid 7 

YiviEx 89 

Elaixk 129 

Guinp:veke 195 


1* 


Mi75f5ii1 


ENID 


ENID 


The  brave  Geraint,  a  knight  of  Arthur's  court, 

A  tributary  prince  of  Devon,  one 

Of  that  great  order  of  the  Table  Round, 

Had  wedded  Enid,  Yniol's  only  child. 

And  loved  her  as  he  loved  the  light  of  Heaven. 

And  as  the  light  of  Heaven  varies,  now 

At  sunrise,  now  at  sunset,  now  by  night 

With  moon  and  trembling  stars,  so  loved  Geraint 

To  make  her  beauty  vary  day  by  day. 

In  crimsons  and  in  purples  and  in  gems. 

And  Enid,  but  to  please  her  husband's  eye, 

Who  first  had  found  and  loved  her  in  a  state 

Of  broken  fortunes,  daily  fronted  him 

In  some  fresh  splendor  ;  and  the  Queen  herself, 

Grateful  to  Prince  Geraint  for  service  done. 

Loved  her,  and  often  with  her  own  white  hands 


10''  '  ENID. 

Arrayed  and  decked  her,  as  tlie  loveliest,      , 

Next  after  her  own  self,  in  all  the  court. 

And  Enid  loved  the  Queen,  and  with  true  heart 

Adored  her,  as  the  stateliest  and  the  best 

And  loveliest  of  all  women  upon  earth. 

And  seeing  them  so  tender  and  so  close. 

Long  in  their  common  love  rejoiced  Geraint. 

But  when  a  rumor  rose  about  the  Queen, 

Touching  her  guilty  love  for  Lancelot, 

Though  yet  there  lived  no  proof,  nor  yet  was  heard 

The  world's  loud  whisper  breaking  into  storm, 

Not  less  Geraint  believed  it ;  and  there  fell 

A  horror  on  him,  lest  his  gentle  wife, 

Through  that  great  tenderness  for  Guinevere, 

Had  suffered  or  should  suffer  any  taint 

In  nature :  wherefore  going  to  the  king, 

He  made  this  pretext,  that  his  princedom  lay 

Close  on  the  borders  of  a  territory, 

"Wherein  were  bandit  earls,  and  caitiff  knights, 

Assassins,  and  all  flyers  from  the  hand 

Of  Justice,  and  whatever  loathes  a  law : 

And  therefore,  till  the  king  himself  should  please 

To  cleanse  this  common  sewer  of  all  his  realm, 

He  craved  a  fair  permission  to  depart, 

And  there  defend  his  marches  ;  and  the  king 


EXID.  11 

Mused  for  a  little  on  his  plea,  but,  last, 
Allowing  it,  the  prince  and  Enid  rode, 
And  fifty  knights  rode  with  them,  to  the  shores 
Of  Severn,  and  they  past  to  their  own  land ; 
Where,  thinking,  that  if  ever  yet  Avas  wife 
True  to  her  lord,  mine  shall  be  so  to  me, 
He  compassed  her  with  sweet  observances 
And  worship,  never  leaving  her,  and  grew 
Forgetful  of  his  promise  to  the  king, 
Forgetful  of  the  falcon  and  the  hunt, 
Forgetful  of  the  tilt  and  tournament, 
Forgetful  of  his  glory  and  his  name. 
Forgetful  of  his  princedom  and  its  cares. 
And  this  forgetfulness  was  hateful  to  her. 
And  by  and  by  the  people,  when  they  met 
In  twos  and  threes,  or  fuller  companies. 
Began  to  scoff  and  jeer  and  babble  of  him 
As  of  a  prince  whose  manhood  was  all  gone, 
And  molten  down  in  mere  uxoriousness. 
And  this  she  gathered  from  the  people's  eyes : 
This  too  the  women  who  attired  her  head. 
To  i:)lease  her,  dwelling  on  his  boundless  love. 
Told  Enid,  and  they  saddened  her  the  more  : 
And  day  by  day  she  thought  to  tell  Geraint, 
But  could  not  out  of  bashful  delicacy ; 


12  ENID. 

Wliile  he  that  watched  her  sadden,  was  the  more 
Suspicious,  that  her  nature  had  a  taint. 

At  last,  it  chanced  that  on  a  summer  morn 
(They  sleeping  each  by  other)  the  new  sun 
Beat  through  the  bhndless  casement  of  the  room, 
And  heated  the  strong  warrior  in  his  dreams  ; 
Who,  moving,  cast  the  coverlet  aside. 
And  bared  the  knotted  column  of  his  throat, 
The  massive  square  of  his  heroic  breast. 
And  arms  on  which  the  standing  muscle  sloped, 
As  slopes  a  vrild  brook  o'er  a  little  stone, 
Running  too  vehemently  to  break  upon  it. 
And  Enid  woke  and  sat  beside  the  couch, 
Admiring  him,  and  thought  within  herself, 
"Was  ever  man  so  grandly  made  as  he  ? 
Then,  like  a  shadow,  past  the  people's  talk 
And  accusation  of  uxoriousness 
Across  her  mind,  and  bowing  over  him. 
Low  to  her  own  heart  j)iteously  she  said : 

"  0  noble  breast  and  all-puissant  arms, 
Am  I  the  cause,  I  the  poor  cause  that  men 
Reproach  you,  saying  all  your  force  is  gone  ? 
I  am  the  cause  because  I  dare  not  speak 


ENID.  13 

And  tell  him  what  I  think  and  what  they  say. 

And  yet  I  hate  that  he  should  linger  here  ; 

I  cannot  love  my  lord  and  not  his  name. 

Far  liever  had  I  gird  his  harness  on  him, 

And  ride  with  him  to  battle  and  stand  by, 

And  watch  his  mightful  hand  striking  great  blows 

At  caitiffs  and  at  wrongers  of  the  world. 

Far  better  were  I  laid  in  the  dark  earth, 

Not  hearing  any  more  his  noble  voice. 

Not  to  be  folded  more  in  these  dear  arms. 

And  darkened  from  the  high  light  in  his  eyes, 

Than  that  my  lord  through  me  should  suffer  shame. 

Am  I  so  bold,  and  could  I  so  stand  by. 

And  see  my  dear  lord  wounded  in  the  strife. 

Or  may  be  pierced  to  death  before  mine  eyes, 

And  yet  not  dare  to  tell  him  what  I  think. 

And  how  men  slur  him,  saying  all  liis  force 

Is  melted  into  mere  effeminacy  ? 

O  me,  I  fear  that  I  am  no  true  wife." 

Half  inwardly,  half  audibly  she  spoke, 
And  the  strong  passion  in  her  made  her  weep 
True  tears  upon  his  broad  and  naked  breast, 
And  these  awoke  him,  and  by  great  mischance 
He  heard  but  fragments  of  her  later  words, 
2 


14  EXID. 

And  that  slie  feared  slie  was  not  a  true  wife. 

And  then  he  thought,  "  In  spite  of  all  my  care, 

For  all  my  pains,  poor  man,  for  all  my  pains, 

She  is  not  faithful  to  me,  and  I  see  her 

Weeping  for  some  gay  knight  in  Arthur's  hall." 

Then  though  he  loved  and  reverenced  her  too  much 

To  dream  she  could  be  guilty  of  foul  act, 

Right  through  his  manful  breast  darted  the  pang 

That  makes  a  man,  in  the  sweet  face  of  her 

Whom  he  loves  most,  lonely  and  miserable. 

At  this  he  snatched  his  great  limbs  from  the  bed, 

And  shook  his  drowsy  squire  awake,  and  cried, 

"  My  charger  and  her  palfrey,"  then  to  her : 

"  I  will  ride  forth  into  the  wilderness  ; 

For  though  it  seems  my  spurs  are  yet  to  win, 

I  have  not  fallen  so  low  as  some  would  wish. 

And  you,  put  on  your  worst  and  meanest  dress 

And  ride  with  me."     And  Enid  asked,  amazed, 

"  If  Enid  errs,  let  Enid  learn  her  fault." 

But  he,  "  I  charge  you,  ask  not,  but  obey." 

Then  she  bethought  her  of  a  faded  silk, 

A  faded  mantle  and  a  faded  veil. 

And  moving  toward  a  cedarn  cabinet, 

"Wherein  she  kept  them  folded  reverently 

With  sprigs  of  summer  laid  between  the  folds, 


ENID.  15 

She  took  them,  and  arrayed  herself  therein, 
Remembering  when  first  he  came  on  her 
Drest  in  that  dress,  and  how  he  loved  her  in  it, 
And  all  her  foolish  fears  about  the  dress, 
And  all  his  journey  to  her,  as  himself 
Had  told  her,  and  their  coming  to  the  court. 

For  Arthur  on  the  Whitsuntide  before 
Held  court  at  old  Caerleon  upon  Usk. 
There  on  a  day,  he  sitting  high  in  hall. 
Before  him  came  a  forester  of  Dean, 
Wet  from  the  woods,  with  notice  of  a  hart 
Taller  than  all  his  fellows,  milky-white. 
First  seen  that  day :  these  things  he  told  the  king. 
Then  the  good  king  gave  order  to  let  blow 
His  horns  for  hunting  on  the  morrow  morn. 
And  when  the  Queen  petitioned  for  liis  leave 
To  see  the  hunt,  allowed  it  easily. 
So  with  the  morning  all  the  court  were  gone. 
But  Guinevere  lay  late  into  the  morn, 
Lost  in  sweet  di-eams,  and  dreaming  of  her  love 
For  Lancelot,  and  forgetful  of  the  hunt ; 
But  rose  at  last,  a  single  maiden  with  her, 
Took  horse,  and  forded  Usk,  and  gained  the  wood ; 
There,  on  a  little  knoll  beside  it,  stayed 


1 6  ENID. 

Waiting  to  hear  the  hounds  ;  but  heard  instead 

A  sudden  sound  of  hoofs,  for  Prince  Geraint, 

Late  also,  wearing  neither  hunting-dress 

Nor  weapon,  save  a  goldcn-hiUed  brand, 

Came  quickly  flashing  through  the  shallow  ford 

Behind  them,  and  so  galloped  up  the  knoll. 

A  purple  scarf,  at  either  end  whereof 

There  swung  an  apjDle  of  the  purest  gold, 

Swayed  round  about  him,  as  he  galloped  up 

To  join  them,  glancing  like  a  dragon-fly 

In  summer  suit  and  silks  of  holiday. 

Low  bowed  the  tributary  Prince,  and  she, 

Sweetly  and  statelily,  and  with  all  grace 

Of  womanhood  and  queenhood,  answered  him : 

"  Late,  late.  Sir  Prince,"  she  said,  "  later  than  we  !  " 

"  Yea,  noble  Queen,"  he  answered,  "  and  so  late 

That  I  but  come  like  you  to  see  the  hunt, 

Kot  join  it."     "Therefore  wait  with  me,"  she  said; 

"  For  on  this  little  knoll,  if  anywhere, 

There  is  good  chance  that  we  shall  hear  the  hounds 

Here  often  they  break  covert  at  our  feet." 

And  while  they  listened  for  the  distant  hunt. 
And  chiefly  for  the  baying  of  Cavall, 
King  Arthur's  hound  of  deepest  mouth,  there  rode 


ENID.  17 

Full  slowly  by  a  knight,  lady,  and  dwarf ; 
Whereof  the  dAvarf  lagged  latest,  and  the  knight 
Had  visor  up,  and  showed  a  youthful  face, 
ImjDerious,  and  of  haughtiest  lineaments. 
And  Guinevere,  not  mindful  of  his  face 
In  the  king's  hall,  desired  his  name,  and  sent 
Her  maiden  to  demand  it  of  the  dwarf; 
Who  being  vicious,  old  and  irritable. 
And  doubling  all  his  master's  vice  of  pride, 
Made  answer  sharply  that  she  should  not  know. 
"Then  will  I  ask  it  of  himself,"  she  said. 
"Nay,  by  my  faith,  thou  shalt  not,"  cried  the  dwarf; 
"  Thou  art  not  worthy  ev'n  to  speak  of  him  " ; 
And  when  she  put  her  horse  toward  the  knight. 
Struck  at  her  with  his  whip,  and  she  returned 
Indignant  to  the  Queen ;  at  which  Geraint 
Exclaimed,  "  Surely  I  will  learn  the  name," 
Made  sharply  to  the  dwarf,  and  asked  it  of  him. 
Who  answered  as  before ;  and  when  the  Prince 
Had  put  his  horse  in  motion  toward  the  knight. 
Struck  at  him  with  his  whip,  and  cut  his  cheek. 
The  Prince's  blood  spirted  upon  the  scarf. 
Dyeing  it ;  and  his  quick,  instinctive  hand 
Caught  at  the  hilt,  as  to  abolish  him : 
But  he,  from  his  exceeding  manfulness 

2* 


18  ENID. 

And  pure  nobility  of  temperament, 

"Wroth  to  be  wrotli  at  such  a  worm,  refrained 

From  ev'n  a  word,  and  so  returning  said : 

"  I  will  avenge  this  insult,  noble  Queen, 
Done  in  your  maiden's  person  to  yourself : 
And  I  will  track  this  vermin  to  their  earths : 
For  though  I  ride  unarmed,  I  do  not  doubt 
To  find,  at  some  place  I  shall  come  at,  arms 
On  loan,  or  else  for  pledge  ;  and,  being  found. 
Then  will  I  fight  him,  and  will  break  his  pride, 
And  on  the  third  day  will  again  be  here. 
So  that  I  be  not  fallen  in  fight.     Farev/ell." 

"  Farewell,  fair  Prince,"  answered  the  stately  Queen. 
"  Be  prosperous  in  this  journey,  as  in  all ; 
And  may  you  light  on  all  things  that  you  love, 
And  live  to  wed  with  her  whom  fii-st  you  love  : 
But  ere  you  wed  with  any,  brmg  your  bride. 
And  I,  were  she  the  daughter  of  a  king. 
Yea,  though  she  were  a  beggar  from  the  hedge. 
Will  clothe  her  for  her  bridals  Hke  the  sun."  . 

And  Prince  Geraint,  now  tliinking  that  he  heard 
The  noble  hart  at  bay,  now  the  far  horn, 


19 


A  little  vext  at  losing  of  the  hunt, 

A  little  at  the  vile  occasion,  rode, 

By  ups  and  downs,  through  many  a  glassy  glade 

And  valley,  Avith  fixt  eye  following  the  three. 

At  last  they  issued  from  the  world  of  wood. 

And  climbed  upon  a  fair  and  even  ridge. 

And  showed  themselves  against  the  sky,  and  sank. 

And  thither  came  Geraint,  and  underneath 

Beheld  the  long  street  of  a  little  town 

In  a  long  valley,  on  one  side  of  which, 

White  from  the  mason's  hand,  a  fortress  rose ; 

And  on  one  side  a  castle  in  decay. 

Beyond  a  bridge  that  spanned  a  dry  ravine  : 

And  out  of  town  and  valley  came  a  noise 

As  of  a  broad  brook  o'er  a  shingly  bed 

Brawling,  or  like  a  clamor  of  the  rooks 

At  distance,  ere  they  settle  for  the  night. 

And  onward  to  the  fortress  rode  the  three. 
And  entered,  and  were  lost  behind  the  walls. 
"So,"  thought  Geraint,  "I  have  tracked  him  to  his  earth.' 
And  doA\'n  the  long  street  riding  wearily. 
Found  every  hostel  full,  and  eveiywhere 
"Was  hammer  laid  to  hoof,  and  the  hot  hiss 
And  bustling  whistle  of  the  youth  who  scoured 


20  EXID. 

His  master's  armor  ;  and  of  such  a  one  - 

He  asked,  "  What  means  the  tumult  in  the  town  ?  " 

Who  told  him,  scouring  still,  ''  The  sparroAv-hawk !  " 

Then  ridmg  close  behind  an  ancient  churl, 

Wlio,  smitten  by  the  dustj  slojDing  beam, 

Went  sweating  underneath  a  sack  of  corn. 

Asked  yet  once  more  what  meant  the  hubbub  here  ? 

Who  answered  gruffly,  "  Ugh  !    the  sparrow-hawk." 

Then  riding  further  past  an  armorer's. 

Who,  with  back  turned,  and  bowed  above  his  work, 

Sat  riveting  a  hehnet  on  his  knee. 

He  put  the  selfsame  query,  but  the  man. 

Not  turning  round,  nor  looking  at  him,  said : 

"  Friend,  he  that  labors  for  the  sparrow-hawk 

Has  little  time  for  idle  questioners.' 

Whereat  Geraint  flashed  into  sudden  spleen : 

"  A  thousand  pips  eat  up  your  sparrow-hawk  ! 

Tits,  wrens,  and  all  winged  nothings  peck  him  dead  ! 

Ye  think  the  rustic  cackle  of  your  bourg 

The  murmur  of  the  world  !     What  is  it  to  me  ? 

O  Avretched  set  of  sj^arrows,  one  and  all, 

Who  pipe  of  nothing  but  of  spaiTOw-hawks ! 

Speak,  if  you  be  not  like  the  rest,  hawk-mad. 

Where  can  I  get  me  harborage  for  the  night  ? 

And  arms,  arms,  arms  to  fight  my  enemy  ?     Speak !  " 


ENID.  21 

At  this  the  armorer  turning  all  amazed 
And  seeing  one  so  gaj  in  purple  silks, 
Came  forward  with  the  helmet  yet  in  hand 
And  answered,  "  Pardon  me,  O  stranger  knight ; 
We  hold  a  tourney  here  to-morrow  morn, 
And  there  is  scantly  time  for  half  the  work. 
Arms  ?  truth  !  I  know  not :  all  are  wanted  here. 
Harborage  ?  truth,  good  truth,  I  know  not,  save, 
It  may  be,  at  Earl  Yniol's,  o'er  the  bridge 
Yonder."     He  spoke  and  fell  to  work  again. 

Then  rode  Geraint,  a  little  spleenful  yet. 
Across  the  bridge  that  spanned  the  dry  ravine. 
There  musing  sat  the  hoary-headed  Earl, 
(His  dress  a  suit  of  frayed  magnificence. 
Once  fit  for  feasts  of  ceremony,)  and  said  : 
"Whither,  fair  son  ?"  to  whom  Geraint  repHed, 
"  O  friend,  I  seek  a  harborage  for  the  night." 
Then  Yniol,  "  Enter  therefore  and  j^artake 
The  slender  entertainment  of  a  house 
Once  rich,  now  poor,  but  ever  open-doored." 
"  Thanks,  venerable  friend,"  replied  Geraint ; 
"  So  that  you  do  not  serve  me  sparrow-hawks 
For  supper,  I  will  enter,  I  will  eat 
With  all  the  passion  of  a  twelve  hours'  fast." 


22 


Then  sighed  and  smiled  the  hoaiy-headed  Earl, 
And  answered,  "  Graver  cause  than  yours  is  mine 
To  curse  this  hedgerow  thief,  the  sparroM'-hawk : 
But  in,  go  in ;  for  save  yourself  desire  it 
"We  will  not  touch  upon  him  ev'n  in  jest." 

Then  rode  Geraint  into  the  castle  court. 
His  charger  trampling  many  a  prickly  star 
Of  sprouted  thistle  on  the  broken  stones. 
He  looked  and  saw  that  all  was  ruinous. 
Here  stood  a  shattered  archway  plumed  with  fern ; 
And  here  had  fallen  a  great  part  of  a  tower, 
"Whole,  like  a  crag  that  tumbles  from  the  cliff. 
And  like  a  crag  was  gay  with  wilding  flowers : 
And  high  above  a  piece  of  turret  stair, 
"Worn  by  the  feet  that  now  were  silent,  wound 
Bare  to  the  sun,  and  monstrous  ivy-stems 
Claspt  the  gray  walls  with  hairy-fibred  arms. 
And  sucked  the  joining  of  the  stones,  and  looked 
A  knot,  beneath,  of  snakes,  aloft,  a  grove. 

And  while  he  waited  in  the  castle  court, 
The  voice  of  Enid,  Yniol's  daughter,  rang 
Clear  through  the  open  casement  of  the  Hall, 
Singuag ;  and  as  the  sweet  voice  of  a  bird, 


^3 


Heard  by  the  lander  in  a  lonely  isle, 

Moves  him  to  think  what  kind  of  bird  it  is 

That  sings  so  delicately  clear,  and  make 

Conjecture  of  the  plumage  and  the  form ; 

So  the  sweet  voice  of  Enid  moved  Geraint ; 

And  made  him  like  a  man  abroad  at  morn 

When  first  the  liquid  note  beloved  of  men 

Comes  flying  over  many  a  windy  wave 

To  Britain,  and  in  April  suddenly 

Breaks  from  a  coppice  gemmed  with  green  and  red. 

And  he  suspends  his  converse  with  a  friend, 

Or  it  may  be  the  labor  of  his  hands. 

To  think  or  say,  "  There  is  the  nightingale  "  ; 

So  fared  it  with  Geraint,  who  thought  and  said, 

"  Here,  by  God's  grace,  is  the  one  voice  for  me." 

It  chanced  the  song  that  Enid  sang  was  one 
Of  Fortune  and  her  Avheel,  and  Enid  sang : 

"  Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  and  lower  the  proud ; 
Turn  thy  wild  wheel  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  cloud ; 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate. 

"  Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  with  smile  or  frown  ; 
"With  that  wild  wheel  we  go  not  up  or  down ; 
Our  hoard  is  little,  but  our  hearts  are  great. 


24  ENID. 

"  Smile  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  many  lands ; 
Frown  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  our  own  hands ; 
For  man  is  man  and  master  of  his  fate. 

"  Turn,  turn  thy  wheel  above  the  staring  crowd  ; 
Thy  wheel  and  thou  are  shadows  in  the  cloud  ; 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate." 

"  Hark,    by   the    bird's     song    you    may    learn   the 
nest," 
Said  Yniol ;  "  Enter  quickly."     Entering  then, 
Right  o'er  a  mount  of  new-fallen  stones, 
The  dusky-raftered,  many-cobwebbed  hall. 
He  found  an  ancient  dame  in  dim  brocade ; 
And  near  her,  like  a  blossom  vermeil-white, 
That  lightly  breaks  a  faded  flower-sheath, 
Moved  the  fair  Enid,  all  iii  faded  silk. 
Her  daughter.     In  a  moment  thought  Geraint, 
*'  Here  by  God's  rood  is  the  one  maid  for  me." 
But  none  spake  word  except  the  hoary  Earl : 
"  Enid,  the  good  knight's  horse  stands  in  the  court ; 
Take  him  to  stall,  and  give  him  corn,  and  then 
Go  to  the  town  and  buy  us  flesh  and  wine ; 
And  we  will  make  us  merry  as  we  may. 
Our  hoard  is  little,  but  our  hearts  are  great." 


ENID.  25 

He  spake :  the  Prince,  as  Enid  past  him,  fain 
To  follow,  strode  a  stride,  but  Yniol  caught 
His  purple  scarf,  and  held,  and  said,  "  Forbear ! 
Rest !  the  good  house,  though  ruined,  O  my  Son, 
Endures  not  that  her  guest  should  serve  himself." 
And  reverencing  the  custom  of  the  house, 
Geraint,  from  utter  courtesy,  forbore. 

So  Enid  took  his  charger  to  the  stall ; 
And  after  went  her  way  across  the  bridge, 
And  reached  the  town,  and  while  the  Prince  and  Earl 
Yet  spoke  together,  came  again  with  one, 
A  youth,  that  following  with  a  costrel  bore 
The  means  of  goodly  welcome,  flesh  and  wine. 
And  Enid  brought  sweet  cakes  to  make  them  cheer, 
And  in  her  veil  enfolded,  manchet  bread. 
And  then,  because  their  hall  must  also  serve 
For  kitchen,  boiled  the  flesh,  and  spread  the  board, 
And  stood  behind,  and  waited  on  the  three. 
And  seeing  her  so  sweet  and  serviceable, 
Geraint  had  longing  in  him  evermore 
To  stoop  and  kiss  the  tender  little  thumb. 
That  crost  the  trencher  as  she  laid  it  down : 
But  after  all  had  eaten,  then  Geraint, 
For  now  the  wine  made  summer  in  his  veins, 

3 


26  ENID. 

Let  his  eye  rove  in  following,  or  rest 
On  Enid  at  her  lowly  handmaid-work, 
Now  here,  now  there,  about  the  dusky  hall ; 
Tlien  suddenly  addrest  tlie  hoary  Earl : 

"  Fair  Host  and  Earl,  I  pray  your  courtesy ; 
This  sjDarrow-haM'k,  what  is  he,  tell  me  of  him. 
His  name  ?  but  no,  good  faith,  I  will  not  have  it : 
For  if  he  be  the  knight  whom  late  I  saw 
Ride  into  that  new  fortress  by  your  town, 
"White  from  the  mason's  hand,  then  have  I  sworn 
From  his  own  lips  to  have  it  —  I  am  Geraint 
Of  Devon  —  for  this  morning  when  the  Queen 
Sent  her  own  maiden  to  demand  tlie  name. 
His  dwarf,  a  vicious  under-shapen  thing, 
Struck  at  her  with  his  whip,  and  she  returned 
Indignant  to  the  Queen  ;  and  then  I  swore 
That  I  would  track  this  caitiff  to  his  hold, 
And  fight  and  break  his  pride,  and  have  it  of  him. 
And  all  unarmed  I  rode,  and  thought  to  find 
Arms  in  your  town,  where  all  the  men  are  mad ; 
They  take  the  rustic  murmur  of  their  bourg 
For  the  great  wave  that  echoes  round  the  world ; 
They  would  not  hear  me  speak :  but  if  you  know 
"Where  I  can  light  on  arms,  or  if  yourself 


ENID.  27 

Should  have  them,  tell  me,  seeing  I  have  sworn 
That  I  Avill  break  his  pride  and  learn  his  name, 
Avenging  this  great  insult  done  the  Queen." 

Then  cried  Earl  Yniol.     "  Art  thou  he  indeed, 
Geraint,  a  name  far-sounded  among  men 
For  noble  deeds  ?  and  truly  I,  when  first 
I  saw  you  moving  by  me  on  the  bridge, 
Felt  you  were  somewhat,  yea  and  by  your  state 
And  presence  might  have  guessed  you  one  of  those 
That  eat  in  Arthur's  hall  at  Camelot. 
Nor  speak  I  now  from  foolish  flattery ; 
For  this  dear  child  hath  often  heard  me  praise 
Your  feats  of  arms,  and  often  when  I  paused 
Hath  asked  again,  and  ever  loved  to  hear ; 
So  grateful  is  the  noise  of  noble  deeds 
To  noble  hearts  who  see  but  acts  of  wrong : 

0  never  yet  had  woman  such  a  pair 

Of  suitors  as  this  maiden  ;  first  Limours, 

A  creature  wholly  given  to  brawls  and  Avine, 

Drunk  even  when  he  wooed ;  and  be  he  dead 

1  know  not,  but  he  past  to  the  wild  land. 
The  second  was  your  foe,  the  sparrow-hawk. 
My  curse,  my  nephew  —  I  will  not  let  his  name 
Slip  from  my  lips  if  I  can  help  it  —  he. 


28  ENID. 

When  I  tliat  knew  liim  fierce  and  turbulent 

Refused  her  to  him,  then  his  pride  awoke ; 

And  since  the  proud  man  often  is  the  mean, 

He  sowed  a  slander  in  the  common  ear, 

Affirming  tliat  his  father  left  him  gold, 

And  in  my  charge,  which  was  not  rendered  to  him 

Bribed  with  large  promises  the  men  who  served 

About  my  person,  the  more  easily 

Because  my  means  were  somewhat  broken  into 

Through  open  doors  and  hospitality  ; 

Raised  my  own  town  against  me  in  the  night 

Before  my  Enid's  birthday,  sacked  my  house ; 

From  mine  own  earldom  foull}'*  ousted  me  ; 

Built  that  new  fort  to  overawe  my  friends, 

For  truly  there  are  those  who  love  me  yet ; 

And  keeps  me  in  this  ruinous  castle  here. 

Where  doubtless  he  Avould  j^ut  me  soon  to  death 

But  that  his  pride  too  much  despises  me  : 

And  I  myself  sometimes  despise  myself; 

For  I  have  let  men  be,  and  have  their  way  ; 

Am  much  too  gentle,  have  not  used  my  power : 

Nor  know  I  whether  I  be  very  base 

Or  very  manful,  Avhether  very  wise 

Or  very  foolish  ;  only  this  I  know, 

That  whatsoever  evil  happen  to  me. 


ENID.  29 

I  seem  to  suffer  nothing  heart  or  limb, 
But  can  endure  it  all  most  patiently." 

"  Well  said,  true  heart,"  replied  Geraint,  "  but  arms  : 
That  if,  as  I  suppose,  your  nephew  fights 
In  next  day's  tourney,  I  may  break  his  pride." 

And  Yniol  answered,  "  Arms,  indeed,  but  old 
And  rusty,  old  and  rusty.  Prince  Geraint, 
Are  mine,  and  therefore  at  your  asking,  yours. 
But  in  this  tournament  can  no  man  tilt. 
Except  the  lady  he  loves  best  be  there. 
Two  forks  are  fixt  into  the  meadow  ground, 
And  over  these  is  laid  a  silver  wand. 
And  over  that  is  placed  the  sparrow-hawk, 
The  prize  of  beauty  for  the  fairest  there. 
And  this,  wliat  knight  soever  be  in  field 
Lays  claim  to  for  the  lady  at  his  side. 
And  tilts  with  my  good  nephew  thereupon, 
Who  being  apt  at  arms  and  big  of  bone 
Has  ever  won  it  for  the  lady  with  him, 
And  toppling  over  all  antagonism 
Has  earned  himself  the  name  of  sparrow-hawk. 
But  you,  that  have  no  lady,  cannot  fight." 
3* 


30  ENID. 

To  whom  Geraint  Avith  eyes  all  bright  replied, 
Leaning  a  little  toward  him,  "  Your  leave  ! 
Let  me  lay  lance  in  rest,  0  noble  host, 
For  this  dear  child,  because  I  never  saw, 
Though  having  seen  all  beauties  of  our  time, 
Nor  can  see  elsewhere,  anything  so  fair. 
And  if  I  fall,  her  name  will  yet  remain 
Untarnished  as  before  ;  but  if  I  live, 
So  aid  me  Heaven  when  at  mine  uttermost. 
As  I  will  make  her  truly  my  true  wife." 

Then,  howsoever  patient,  Yniol's  heart 
Danced  in  his  bosom,  seeing  better  days. 
And  looking  round  he  saw  not  Enid  there, 
(Who,  hearing  her  own  name,  had  slipt  away,) 
But  that  old  dame,  to  whom  full  tenderly. 
And  fondling  all  her  hand  in  his,  he  said, 
"  Mother,  a  maiden  is  a  tender  thing. 
And  best  by  her  that  bore  her  understood. 
Go  thou  to  rest,  but  ere  thou  go  to  rest 
Tell  her,  and  prove  her  heart  toward  the  Prince." 

So  spake  the  kindly-hearted  Earl,  and  she 
With  frequent  smile  and  nod  departing  found. 
Half  disarrayed  as  to  her  rest,  the  girl ; 


ENID.  31 

Vv'hom  first  she  kissed  on  either  cheek,  and  then 
On  either  shining  shoukler  laid  a  hand, 
And  kept  her  off  and  gazed  upon  her  face, 
And  told  her  all  their  converse  in  the  hall, 
Proving  her  heart :  but  never  liglit  and  shade 
Coursed  one  another  more  on  open  ground 
Beneath  a  troubled  heaven,  than  red  and  pale 
Across  the  face  of  Enid  hearing  her : 
While  slowly  falling  as  a  scale  that  falls, 
"When  weight  is  added  only  grain  by  grain, 
Sank  her  sweet  head  upon  her  gentle  breast ; 
Nor  did  she  lift  an  eye  nor  speak  a  word, 
Eapt  in  the  fear  and  in  the  wonder  of  it ; 
So  moving  without  answer  to  her  rest 
She  found  no  rest,  and  ever  failed  to  draw 
The  quiet  night  into  her  blood,  but  lay 
ContemjDlating  her  own  unAvorthmess  ; 
And  when  the  pale  and  bloodless  east  began 
To  quicken  to  the  sun,  arose,  and  raised 
Her  mother  too,  and  hand  in  hand  they  moved 
Down  to  the  meadow  Avhere  the  jousts  were  held. 
And  waited  there  for  Yniol  and  Geraint. 

And  tliither  came  the  twain,  and  when  Geraint 
Beheld  her  first  in  field,  awaiting  him. 


32  ENID. 

He  felt,  were  she  the  prize  of  bodily  force, 

Himself  beyond  the  rest  jjushing  could  move 

The  chair  of  Idris.     Yniol's  rusted  arms 

Were  on  his  princely  person,  but  through  these 

Prmcclike  his  bearing  shone  ;  and  errant  knights 

And  ladies  came,  and  by  and  by  the  town 

Flowed  in,  and  settling  circled  all  the  lists. 

And  there  they  fixt  the  forks  into  the  ground. 

And  over  these  they  placed  a  silver  wand, 

And  over  that  a  golden  sj^arrow-hawk. 

Then  Yniol's  nephew,  after  trumpet  blown. 

Spake  to  the  lady  with  him  and  proclaimed, 

"  Advance  and  take  as  fairest  of  the  fair, 

For  I  these  two  years  past  have  won  it  for  thee. 

The  prize  of  beauty."     Loudly  spake  the  Prince. 

"  Forbear  ;  there  is  a  worthier,"  and  the  knight 

With  some  surprise  and  thrice  as  much  disdain 

Turned,  and  beheld  the  four,  aiid  all  his  face 

Glowed  like  the  heart  of  a  great  fire  at  Yule, 

So  burnt  he  was  with  passion,  crying  out, 

"  Do  battle  for  it  then,"  no  more  ;  and  thrice 

They  clashed  together,  and  thrice  they  brake  their  spears 

Then  each,  dishorsed  and  drawing,  lashed  at  each 

So  often  and  with  such  blows,  that  all  the  crowd 

Wondered,  and  now  and  then  from  distant  walls 


33 


There  came  a  clapping  as  of  phantom  hands. 

So  tAvice  they  fought,  and  twice  they  breathed,  and  still 

The  dew  of  their  great  labor,  and  the  blood 

Of  their  strong  bodies,  flowing,  drained  their  force. 

But  cither's  force  was  matched  till  Yniol's  cry, 

"  Remember  that  great  insult  done  the  Queen," 

Increased  Geraint's,  who  heaved  his  blade  aloft, 

And  cracked  the  helmet  through,  and  bit  the  bone, 

And  felled  him,  and  set  foot  upon  his  breast. 

And  said,  "'  Thy  name  ?  "     To  whom  the  fallen  man 

Made  answer,  groaning,  "  Edyrn,  son  of  Kudd  ! 

Ashamed  am  I  that  I  should  tell  it  thee. 

My  j)ride  is  broken  :  men  have  seen  my  fall." 

"  Then,  Edyrn,  sou  of  JSTudd,"  rephed  Geraint, 

"  These  two  things  shalt  thou  do,  or  else  thou  diest. 

First,  thou  thyself,  thy  lady,  and  thy  dwarf, 

Shalt  ride  to  Arthur's  court,  and  being  there, 

Crave  pardon  for  that  insult  done  the  Queen, 

And  shalt  abide  her  judgment  on  it ;  next, 

Thou  shalt  give  back  their  earldom  to  thy  kin. 

These  two  things  shalt  thou  do,  or  thou  shalt  die." 

And  Edyrn  answered,  "  These  things  will  I  do, 

For  I  have  never  yet  been  overthrown. 

And  thou  hast  overthrown  me,  and  my  pride 

Is  broken  down,  for  Enid  sees  my  fall !  " 


34  ENID. 

And  rising  np,  lie  rode  to  Arthur's  court, 
And  there  the  Queen  forgave  him  easily. 
And  being  young,  he  changed  himself,  and  grew 
To  hate  the  sin  that  seemed  so  like  his  own 
Of  Modred,  Arthur's  nephew,  and  fell  at  last 
In  the  great  battle  fighting  for  the  king. 

But  when  the  third  day  from  the  hunting-morn 
Made  a  low  splendor  in  the  world,  and  wings 
Moved  in  her  ivy,  Enid,  for  she  lay 
With  her  fair  head  in  the  dim-yellow  light. 
Among  the  dancing  shadoAvs  of  the  birds, 
Woke  and  bethought  her  of  her  promise  given 
No  later  than  last  eve  to  Prince  Geraint  — 
So  bent  he  seemed  on  going  the  third  day. 
He  would  not  leave  her,  till  her  promise  given  — 
To  ride  with  him  this  morning  to  the  court. 
And  there  be  made  known  to  the  stately  Queen, 
And  there  be  wedded  with  all  ceremony. 
At  this  she  cast  her  eyes  upon  her  dress. 
And  thought  it  never  yet  had  looked  so  mean. 
For  as  a  leaf  in  mid-Xovember  is 
To  what  it  was  in  mid-October,  seemed 
The  dress  that  now  she  looked  on  to  the  dress 
She  looked  on  ere  the  cominj?  of  Geraint. 


35 


And  still  she  looked,  and  still  the  terror  grew 
Of  that  strange  bright  and  dreadful  thing,  a  court, 
All  staring  at  her  in  her  faded  silk : 
And  softly  to  her  own  sweet  heart  she  said : 

"  This  noble  prince  who  won  our  earldom  back. 
So  splendid  in  his  acts  and  his  attire, 
Sweet  Heaven,  how  much  I  shall  discredit  him ! 
Would  he  could  tarry  with  us  here  awhile  ! 
But  being  so  beholden  to  the  Prince, 
It  were  but  little  grace  in  any  of  us. 
Bent  as  he  seemed  on  going  this  third  day, 
To  seek  a  second  favor  at  his  hands. 
Yet  if  he  could  but  tarry  a  day  or  two, 
Myself  would  work  eye  dim,  and  finger  lame. 
Far  hefer  than  so  much  discredit  him." 

And  Enid  fell  in  longinsr  for  a  dress 
All  branched  and  flowered  with  gold,  a  costly  gift 
Of  her  good  mother,  given  her  on  the  night 
Before  her  birthday,  three  sad  years  ago, 
That  night  of  fire,  when  Edyrn  sacked  their  house, 
And  scattered  all  they  had  to  all  the  winds  : 
For  while  the  mother  showed  it,  and  the  two 
"Were  turning  and  admiring  it,  the  work 


36  ENID. 

To  both  appeared  so  costly,  rose  a  cry 

That  Edyrn's  men  were  on  them,  and  they  fled 

With  little  save  the  jewels  they  had  on, 

"Which  being  sold  and  sold  had  bought  them  bread ; 

And  Edyrn's  men  had  caught  them  in  their  flight, 

And  placed  them  in  this  ruin  ;  and  she  wished 

The  Prince  had  found  her  in  her  ancient  home  ; 

Then  let  her  fancy  flit  across  the  past, 

And  roam  the  goodly  places  that  she  knew ; 

And  last  bethought  her  how  she  used  to  watch, 

Near  that  old  home,  a  j)ool  of  golden  carp  ; 

And  one  was  patched  and  blurred  and  lustreless 

Among  his  burnished  brethren  of  the  pool ; ' 

And  half  asleep  she  made  comparison 

Of  that  and  these  to  her  own  faded  self 

And  the  gay  court,  and  fell  asleep  again ; 

And  dreamt  herself  was  such  a  faded  form 

Among  her  burnished  sisters  of  the  pool ; 

But  this  was  in  the  garden  of  a  king ; 

And  though  she  lay  dark  in  the  pool,  she  knew 

That  all  was  bright,  that  all  about  were  birds 

Of  sunny  plume  in  gilded  trelHs-work  ; 

That  all  the  turf  was  rich  in  plots  that  looked 

Each  like  a  garnet  or  a  turkis  in  it ; 

And  lords  and  ladies  of  the  high  court  went 


ENID.  37 

In  silver  tissue  talking  things  of  state ; 

And  children  of  the  king  in  cloth  of  gold 

Glanced  at  the  doors  or  gambolled  down  the  "wallis  ; 

And  while  she  thought  "  they  will  not  see  me,"  came 

A  stately  queen  whose  name  was  Guinevere, 

And  all  the  children  in  their  cloth  of  gold 

Ran  to  her,  crying,  "  If  we  have  fish  at  all, 

Let  them  be  gold  ;  and  charge  the  gardeners  now 

To  pick  the  faded  creature  from  the  pool, 

And  cast  it  on  the  mixen  that  it  die." 

And  therewithal  one  came  and  seized  on  her. 

And  Enid  started  w^aking,  with  her  heart 

All  overshadowed  by  the  foolish  dream, 

And  lo  !  it  was  her  mother  grasping  her 

To  get  her  well  awake  ;  and  in  her  hand 

A  suit  of  bright  apparel,  which  she  laid 

Flat  on  the  couch,  and  spoke  exultingly  : 

"  See  here,  my  child,  how  fresh  the  colors  loolc. 
How  fast  they  hold,  like  colors  of  a  shell 
That  keeps  the  wear  and  polish  of  the  wave. 
Why  not  ?  it  never  yet  was  worn,  I  trow : 
Look  on  it,  child,  and  tell  me  if  you  know  it." 

And  Enid  looked,  but  all  confused  at  first, 
4 


38  ENID. 

Could  scarce  divide  it  from  her  foolish  dream : 

Then  suddenly  she  knew  it  and  rejoiced, 

And  answered,  "  Yea,  I  know  it ;  your  good  gift, 

So  sadly  lost  on  that  unhappy  night ; 

Your  own  good  gift !  "     "  Yea,  surely,"  said  the  dame, 

"  And  gladly  given  again  this  happy  morn. 

For  when  the  jousts  were  ended  yesterday, 

Went  Yniol  through  the  town,  and  everywhere 

He  found  the  sack  and  plunder  of  our  house 

All  scattered  through  the  houses  of  the  town : 

And  gave  command  that  all  which  once  was  ours. 

Should  now  be  ours  again ;  and  yester-eve, 

"While  you  were  talking  sweetly  with  your  Prince, 

Came  one  with  this  and  laid  it  in  my  hand. 

For  love  or  fear,  or  seeking  favor  of  us. 

Because  we  have  our  earldom  back  again. 

And  yester-eve  I  would  not  tell  you  of  it, 

But  kept  it  for  a  sweet  surprise  at  morn. 

Yea,  truly  is  it  not  a  sweet  surprise  ? 

For  I  myself  unwillingly  have  worn 

My  faded  suit,  as  you,  my  child,  have  yours. 

And,  howsoever  patient,  Yniol  his. 

Ah,  dear,  he  took  me  from  a  goodly  house, 

With  store  of  rich  apparel,  sumptuous  fare, 

And  page,  and  maid,  and  squire,  and  seneschal, 


ENID.  39 

And  pastime  both  of  hawk  and  hound,  and  all 

That  appertains  to  noble  maintenance. 

Yea,  and  he  brought  me  to  a  goodly  house  ; 

But  since  our  fortune  slipt  from  sun  to  shade. 

And  all  through  that  young  traitor,  cruel  need 

Constrained  us,  but  a  better  time  has  come ; 

So  clothe  yourself  in  this,  that  better  fits 

Our  mended  fortunes  and  a  Prince's  bride : 

For  though  you  won  the  prize  of  fairest  fair, 

And  though  I  heard  him  call  you  fairest  fair. 

Let  never  maiden  think,  however  fair, 

She  is  not  fairer  in  new  clothes  than  old. 

And  should  some  great  court-lady  say,  the  Prince 

Hath  picked  a  ragged-robin  from  the  hedge. 

And  like  a  madman  brought  her  to  the  court. 

Then  were  you  shamed,  and,  worse,  might  shame  the 

Prince 
To  whom  we  are  beholden ;  but  I  know. 
When  my  dear  child  is  set  forth  at  her  best. 
That  neither  court  nor  country,  though  they  sought 
Through  all  the  provinces  like  those  of  old 
That  lighted  on  Queen  Esther,  has  her  match." 

Here  ceased  the  kindly  mother  out  of  breath ; 
And  Enid  listened  brightening  as  she  lay  ; 


40  ENID. 

Then,  as  the  white  and  glittering  star  of  morn 
Parts  from  a  bank  of  snow,  and  by  and  by- 
Slips  into  golden  cloud,  the  maiden  rose, 
And  left  her  maiden  couch,  and  robed  herself. 
Helped  by  the  mother's  careful  hand  and  eye. 
Without  a  mirror,  in  the  gorgeous  gown ; 
"Who,  after,  turned  her  daughter  round,  and  said, 
She  never  yet  had  seen  her  half  so  fair  ; 
And  called  her  like  that  maiden  in  the  tale. 
Whom  Gwydion  made  by  glamour  out  of  flowers. 
And  sweeter  than  the  bride  of  Cassivelaun, 
riur,  for  Avhose  love  the  Roman  Ceesar  first 
Invaded  Britain,  but  we  beat  him  back, 
As  this  great  prince  invaded  us,  and  we. 
Not  beat  him  back,  but  welcomed  him  with  joy. 
"  And  I  can  scarcely  ride  with  you  to  court. 
For  old  am  I,  and  rough  the  ways  and  Avild ; 
But  Yniol  goes,  and  I  full  oft  shall  dream 
I  see  my  princess  as  I  see  her  now. 
Clothed  with  my  gift,  and  gay  among  the  gay." 

But  while  the  women  thus  rejoiced,  Geraint 
Woke  where  he  slept  in  the  high  hall,  and.  called 
For  Enid,  and  when  Yniol  made  report 
Of  that  good  mother  making  Enid  gay 


ENID.  41 

In  such  apparel  as  might  well  beseem 
His  princess,  or  indeed  the  stately  Queen, 
He  answered  :  "  Earl,  entreat  her  by  my  love. 
Albeit  I  give  no  reason  but  my  wish, 
That  she  ride  with  me  in  her  faded  silk." 
Yniol  with  that  hard  message  went ;  it  fell, 
Like  flaws  in  summer  laying  lusty  corn: 
For  Enid,  all  abashed  she  knew  not  why. 
Dared  not  to  glance  at  her  good  mother's  face, 
But  silently,  in  all  obedience, 
Her  mother  silent  too,  nor  helping  her, 
Laid  from  her  limbs  the  costly-broidered  gift, 
And  robed  them  in  her  ancient  suit  again. 
And  so  descended.     Never  man  rejoiced 
More  than  Geraint  to  greet  her  thus  attired ; 
And  glancing  all  at  once  as  keenly  at  her, 
As  careful  robins  eye  the  delver's  toil, 
Made  her  cheek  bum  and  either  eyelid  fall. 
But  rested  with  her  sweet  face  satisfied  ; 
Then  seeing  cloud  upon  the  mother's  brow. 
Her  by  both  hands  he  caught,  and  sweetly  said  : 

"  0  my  new  mother,  be  not  wroth  or  grieved 
At  your  new  son,  for  my  petition  to  her. 

4# 


42  ENID. 

When  late  I  left  Caerleon,  our  great  Queen, 

In  words  whose  echo  lasts,  they  Avere  so  sweet. 

Made  promise,  tliat  whatever  bride  I  brought. 

Herself  would  clothe  her  like  the  sun  in  Heaven. 

Thereafter,  when  I  reached  this  ruined  hold, 

Beholding  one  so  bright  in  dark  estate, 

I  vowed  that  could  I  gain  her,  our  kind  Queen, 

No  hand  but  hers,  should  make  your  Enid  burst 

Sunlike  from  cloud —  and  likewise  thought,  perhaps. 

That  service  done  so  graciously  would  bind 

The  two  together ;  for  I  wish  the  two 

To  love  each  other:  how  should  Enid  find 

A  nobler  friend  ?     Another  thought  I  had ; 

I  came  among  you  here  so  suddenly, 

That  though  her  gentle  presence  at  the  lists 

Might  well  have  served  for  proof  that  I  was  loved, 

I  doubted  whether  filial  tenderness, 

Or  easy  nature,  did  not  let  itself 

Be  moulded  by  your  wishes  for  her  weal ; 

Or  whether  some  false  sense  in  her  own  self 

Of  my  contrasting  brightness,  overbore 

Her  fancy  dwelling  in  this  dusky  hall ; 

And  such  a  sense  might  make  her  long  for  court 

And  all  its  dangerous  glories  :  and  I  thought. 


ENID.  43 

That  could  I  some  way  prove  such  force  in  her 

Linked  with  such  love  for  me,  that  at  a  word 

(No  reason  given  her)  she  could  cast  aside 

A  splendor  dear  to  women,  new  to  her. 

And  therefore  dearer  ;  or  if  not  so  new. 

Yet  therefore  tenfold  dearer  by  the  power 

Of  intermitted  custom  ;  then  I  felt 

That  I  could  rest,  a  rock  in  ebbs  and  flows, 

Fixt  on  her  faith.     Now,  therefore,  I  do  rest, 

A  prophet  certain  of  my  prophecy, 

That  never  shadow  of  mistrust  can  cross 

Between  us.     Grant  me  pardon  for  my  thoughts : 

And  for  my  strange  petition  I  will  make 

Amends  hereafter  by  some  gaudy-day, 

When  your  fair  child  shall  wear  your  costly  gift 

Beside  your  own  warm  hearth,  with,  on  her  knees, 

Who  knows  ?  another  gift  of  the  high  God, 

Which,  may  be,  shall  have  learned  to  Hsp  you  thanks." 

He  spoke  :  the  mother  smiled,  but  half  in  tears. 
Then  brought  a  mantle  down  and  wrapt  her  in  it. 
And  claspt  and  kissed  her,  and  they  rode  aAvay. 

Now  thrice  that  mornino^  Guinevere  had  chmbed 


44  ENID. 

The  giant  tower,  from  whose  high  crest  tliey  say 
Men  saw  the  goodly  hills  of  Somerset, 
And  white  sails  flying  on  the  yellow  sea ; 
But  not  to  goodly  hill  or  yellow  sea 
Looked  the  fair  Queen,  but  up  the  vale  of  Usk, 
By  the  flat  meadow,  till  she  saw  them  come ; 
And  then  descending  met  them  at  the  gates. 
Embraced  her  with  all  welcome  as  a  friend. 
And  did  her  honor  as  the  Prince's  bride, 
And  clothed  her  for  her  bridals  like  the  sun ; 
And  all  that  week  was  old  Caerleon  gay. 
For  by  the  hands  of  Dubric,  the  high  saint, 
They  twain  were  wedded  with  all  ceremony. 

And  this  was  on  the  last  year's  Whitsuntide. 
But  Enid  ever  kept  the  faded  silk, 
Remembering  how  first  he  came  on  her, 
Drest  in  that  dress,  and  how  he  loved  her  in  it, 
And  all  her  foolish  fears  about  the  di^ess. 
And  all  his  journey  toward  her,  as  himself 
Had  told  her,  and  their  coming  to  the  court. 

And  now  this  morning  when  he  said  to  her, 
"  Put  on  your  worst  and  meanest  dress,"  she  found 
And  took  it,  and  arrayed  herself  therein. 


ENID.  45 

O  purblind  race  of  miserable  men, 
How  many  among  us  at  this  very  hour 
Do  forge  a  life-long  trouble  for  ourselves, 
By  taking  true  for  false,  or  false  for  true  ; 
Here,  through  the  feeble  twihght.of  this  world 
Groping,  how  many,  until  we  pass  and  reach 
That  other,  where  we  see  as  we  are  seen ! 

So  fared  it  with  Geraint,  who  issuing  forth 
That  morning,  when  they  had  both  got  to  horse, 
Perhaps  because  he  loved  her  passionately, 
And  felt  that  tempest  brooding  round  his  heart. 
Which,  if  he  spoke  at  all,  would  break  perforce 
Upon  a  head  so  dear  in  thunder,  said : 
"  Not  at  my  side  !     I  charge  you  ride  before, 
Ever  a  good  way  on  before ;  and  this 
I  charge  you,  on  your  duty  as  a  wife, 
"Whatever  happens,  not  to  speak  to  me. 
No,  not  a  word  ! "  and  Enid  was  aghast ; 
And  forth  they  rode,  but  scarce  three  paces  on, 
When  crying  out,  "  Effeminate  as  I  am, 
I  will  not  fight  my  way  with  gilded  arms. 
All  shall  be  iron  " ;  he  loosed  a  mighty  purse. 
Hung  at  his  belt,  and  hurled  it  toward  the  squire. 


40  ENID. 

So  tlie  last  sight  that  Enid  had  of  home 

"Was  all  the  marble  threshold  flashing,  strown 

Witli  gold  and  scattered  coinage,  and  the  squire 

Chafing  his  shoulder  :   then  he  cried  again, 

"  To  the  wilds  !  "  and  Enid  leading  down  the  tracks 

Through  which  he  bade  her  lead  him  on,  they  past 

The  marches,  and  by  bandit-haunted  holds. 

Gray  swamps  and  pools,  waste  places  of  the  hern. 

And  wildernesses,  perilous  paths,  they  rode : 

Eound  was  their  pace  at  first,  but  slackened  soon : 

A  stranger  meeting  them  had  surely  thought. 

They  rode  so  slowly  and  they  looked  so  pale. 

That  each  had  suffered  some  exceeding  wrong. 

For  he  was  ever  saying  to  himself, 

"  O,  I  that  wasted  time  to  tend  upon  her, 

To  compass  her  with  sweet  observances, 

To  dress  her  beautifully  and  keep  her  true  "  — 

And  there  he  broke  the  sentence  in  his  heart 

Abruptly,  as  a  man  upon  his  tongue 

May  break  it,  when  his  passion  masters  him. 

And  she  was  ever  praying  the  sweet  heavens 

To  save  her  dear  lord  whole  from  any  wound. 

And  ever  in  her  mind  she  cast  about 

For  that  unnoticed  failing  in  herself. 


ENID.  47 

"Which  made  him  look  so  cloudy  and  so  cold ; 

Till  the  great  plover's  human  whistle  amazed 

Her  heart,  and  glancing  round  the  waste  she  feared 

In  every  wavering  brake  an  ambuscade. 

Then  thought  again,  "  If  there  be  such  in  me, 

I  might  amend  it  by  the  grace  of  Heaven, 

If  he  would  only  speak  and  tell  me  of  it." 

But  when  the  fourth  part  of  the  day  was  gone, 
Then  Enid  was  aware  of  three  tall  knights 
On  horseback,  wholly  armed,  behind  a  rock 
In  shadow,  waiting  for  them,  caitiffs  all ; 
And  heard  one  crying  to  his  fellow,  "  Look, 
Here  comes  a  laggard  hanging  down  his  head, 
"Who  seems  no  bolder  than  a  beaten  hound ; 
Come,  we  will  slay  him  and  will  have  his  horse 
And  armor,  and  his  damsel  shall  be  ours." 

Then  Enid  pondered  in  her  heart,  and  said : 
"  I  will  go  back  a  little  to  my  lord. 
And  I  will  tell  him  all  their  caitiff  talk ; 
For,  be  he  wroth  even  to  slaying  me, 
Far  liever  by  his  dear  hand  had  I  die. 
Than  that  my  lord  should  suffer  loss  or  shame." 


48  ENID. 

Then  she  went  back  some  paces  of  return, 
Met  his  full  frown  timidly  firm,  and  said : 
"  My  lord,  I  saw  three  bandits  by  the  rock 
Waiting  to  fall  on  you,  and  heard  them  boast 
That  they  would  slay  you,  and  possess  your  horse 
And  armor,  and  your  damsel  should  be  theirs." 

He  made  a  wrathful  answer.     "  Did  I  wish 
Your  silence  or  your  warning  ?  one  command 
I  laid  upon  you,  not  to  speak  to  me, 
And  thus  you  keep  it !     Well  then,  look  —  for  now. 
Whether  you  wish  me  victory  or  defeat. 
Long  for  my  life,  or  hunger  for  my  death, 
Yourself  shall  see  my  vigor  is  not  lost." 

Then  Enid  waited  pale  and  sorrowful. 
And  down  upon  him  bare  the  bandit  three. 
And  at  the  midmost  charging,  Prince  Geraint 
Drave  the  long  spear  a  cubit  through  his  breast 
And  out  beyond ;  and  then  against  his  brace 
Of  comrades,  each  of  whom  had  broken  on  him 
A  lance  that  splintered  like  an  icicle, 
Swung  from  his  brand  a  windy  buffet  out 
Once,  twice,  to  right,  to  left,  and  stunned  the  twain 


ENID.  49 

Or  slew  them,  and  dismounting  like  a  man 

That  skins  the  wild  beast  after  slaying  him, 

Stript  from  the  three  dead  wolves  of  woman  born 

The  three  gay  suits  of  armor  which  they  wore, 

And  let  the  bodies  lie,  but  bound  the  suits 

Of  armor  on  their  horses,  each  on  each, 

And  tied  the  bridle-reins  of  all  the  three 

Together,  and  said  to  her,  "  Drive  them  on 

Before  you  "  ;  and  she  drove  them  througli  the  waste. 

He  followed  nearer  :  ruth  began  to  work 
Against  his  anger  in  him,  while  he  watched 
The  being  he  loved  best  in  all  the  world, 
"With  difficulty  in  mild  obedience 
Driving  them  on  :  he  fain  had  spoken  to  her, 
And  loosed  in  words  of  sudden  fire  the  wrath 
And  smouldered  wrong  that  burnt  him  all  within ; 
But  evermore  it  seemed  an  easier  thing 
At  once  without  remorse  to  strike  her  dead. 
Than  to  cry  '•  Halt,"  and  to  her  own  bright  face 
Accuse  her  of  the  least  immodesty  : 
And  thus  tongue-tied,  it  made  him  wroth  tlie  more 
That  she  could  speak  whom  his  own  ear  had  heard 
Call  herself  false  :  and  suffering  thus  he  made 
5 


50  ENID. 

Minutes  an  age  :  but  in  scarce  longer  time 
Than  at  Caerleon  the  full-tided  Usk, 
Before  lie  turn  to  fall  seaward  again, 
Pauses,  did  Enid,  keeping  watch,  behold 
In  the  first  shallow  shade  of  a  deep  wood, 
Before  a  gloom  of  stubborn-shafted  oaks, 
Three  other  horsemen  waiting,  wholly  armed, 
Whereof  one  seemed  far  larger  than  her  lord. 
And  shook  her  pulses,  crying,  "  L9ok,  a  prize  ! 
Three  horses  and  three  goodly  suits  of  arms. 
And  all  in  charge  of  whom  ?  a  girl :  set  on." 
"  Nay,"  said  the  second,  "  yonder  comes  a  kniglit." 
The  third,  "  A  craven  ;  how  he  hangs  his  head." 
The  giant  answered  merrily,  "  Yea,  but  one  ? 
Wait  here,  and  when  he  passes  fall  upon  him." 

And  Enid  pondered  in  her  heart  and  said, 
"  I  Avill  abide  the  coming  of  my  lord, 
And  I  will  tell  him  all  their  villany. 
My  lord  is  weary  with  the  fight  before. 
And  they  will  fall  upon  him  unavrares. 
I  needs  must  disobey  him  for  his  good ; 
How  should  I  dare  obey  him  to  his  harm  ? 
Needs  must  I  speak,  and  though  he  kill  me  for  it, 
I  save  a  life  dearer  to  me  than  mine." 


ENID.  51 

And  she  abode  his  eommg,  and  said  to  him 
"With  timid  firmness,  "  Have  I  leave  to  speak  ?  " 
He  said,  "  You  take  it,  speaking,"  and  she  spoke. 

"  There  lurk  three  villains  yonder  in  the  wood. 
And  each  of  them  is  wholly  armed,  and  one 
Is  larger-limbed  than  you  are,  and  they  say 
That  they  will  fall  upon  you  while  you  j)ass." 

To  which  he  flung  a  wrathful  answer  back : 
"  And  if  there  were  an  hundred  in  the  wood, 
And  every  man  were  larger-limbed  than  I, 
And  all  at  once  should  sally  out  upon  me, 
I  swear  it  would  not  ruffle  me  so  much    > 
As  you  that  not  obey  me.     Stand  aside,      ) 
And  if  I  fall,  cleave  to  the  better  man."    / 

And  Enid  stood  aside  to  wait  the  event, 
'Not  dare  to  watch  the  combat,  only  breathe 
Short  fits  of  prayer,  at  every  stroke  a  breath. 
And  he,  she  dreaded  most,  bare  down  upon  him. 
Aimed  at  the  helm,  his  lance  erred ;  but  Geraint's, 
A  little  in  the  late  encounter  strained. 
Struck  through  the  bulky  bandit's  corselet  home. 


52  ENID. 

And  then  brake  short,  and  down  his  enemy  rolled, 

And  there  lay  still ;  as  he  that  tells  the  tale, 

Saw  once  a  great  piece  of  a  j)romontory. 

That  had  a  sapling  growing  on  it,  slip 

From  the  long  shore-clifF's  Avindy  walls  to  the  beach. 

And  there  lie  still,  and  yet  the  sapling  grew : 

So  lay  the  man  transfixt.     His  craven  pair 

Of  comrades,  making  slowlier  at  the  Prince, 

When  now  they  saw  their  bulwark  fallen,  stood ; 

On  whom  the  victor,  to  confound  them  more. 

Spurred  with  his  terrible  war-cry ;  for  as  one, 

That  listens  near  a  torrent  mountain-brook. 

All  through  the  crash  of  the  near  cataract  hears 

The  drumminoj  thunder  of  the  hui^er  fall 

At  distance,  were  the  soldiers  wont  to  hear 

His  voice  in  battle,  and  be  kindled  by  it, 

And  foemen  scared,  like  that  false  pair  who  turned 

Flying,  but,  overtaken,  died  the  death 

Themselves  had  wrought  on  many  an  innocent. 

Thereon  Geraint,  dismounting,  picked  the  lance 
That  pleased  him  best,  and  dreAV  from  those  dead  wolves 
Their  three  gay  suits  of  armor,  each  from  each. 
And  bound  them  on  their  horses,  each  on  each, 


ENID.  53 

And  tied  the  bridle-reins  of  all  the  three 

Together,  and  said  to  her,  "  Drive  them  on 

Before  jou" ;  and  she  drove  them  through  the  wood. 

He  followed  nearer  still :  the  pain  she  had 
To  keep  them  in  the  wild  ways  of  the  wood, 
Two  sets  of  three  laden  with  jingUng  arms, 
Together,  served  a  little  to  disedge 
The  sharpness  of  that  pain  about  her  heart : 
And  they  themselves,  like  creatures  gently  born 
But  into  bad  hands  fallen,  and  now  so  long 
By  bandits  groomed,  pricked  their  light  ears,  and  felt 
Her  low  firm  voice  and  tender  government. 

So  through  the  green  gloom  of  the  wood  they  past. 
And  issuing  under  open  heavens  beheld 
A  little  town  with  towers,  upon  a  rock. 
And  close  beneath,  a  meadow  gemhke  chased 
In  the  brown  wild,  and  mowers  mowing  in  it : 
And  down  a  rocky  pathway  from  the  place 
There  came  a  fair-haired  youth,  that  in  his  hand 
Bare  victual  for  the  mowers  :  and  Geraint 
Had  ruth  again  on  Enid  looking  pale  : 
Then,  moving  downward  to  the  meadow  gi'ound, 

5* 


54  ENID. 

He,  when  the  fair-haired  youth  came  by  him,  said, 

"  Friend,  let  her  eat ;  the  damsel  is  so  faint." 

"  Yea,  willingly,"  replied  the  youth  ;  '•  and  you, 

My  lord,  eat  also,  though  the  fare  is  coarse, 

And  only  meet  for  mowers  "  ;  tlien  set  down 

His  basket,  and  dismounting  on  the  sward 

They  let  the  horses  graze,  and  ate  themselves. 

And  Enid  took  a  little  delicately, 

Less  having  a  stomach  for  it  than  desire 

To  close  with  her  lord's  pleasure  ;  but  Geraint 

Ate  all  the  mowers'  victual  unawares, 

And  v/hen  he  found  all  empty,  Avas  amazed  ; 

And  "  Boy,"  said  he,  "  I  have  eaten  all,  but  take 

A  horse  and  arms  for  guerdon  ;  choose  the  best." 

He,  reddening  in  extremity  of  delight,, 

"  My  lord,  you  overpay  me  fifty-fold." 

"  You  will  be  all  the  wealthier,"  cried  the  Prince. 

"  I  take  it  as  free  gift,  then,"  said  the  boy, 

"  Not  guerdon  ;  for  myself  can  easily. 

While  your  good  damsel  rests,  return,  and  fetch 

Fresh  victual  for  these  mowers  of  our  Earl ; 

For  these  are  his,  and  all  the  field  is  his. 

And  I  myself  am  his  ;  and  I  will  tell  him 

How  great  a  man  you  are  :  he  loves  to  know 


E2ylD.  55 

"When  men  of  mark  are  in  his  territory : 
And  he  will  have  you  to  his  palace  here, 
And  serve  you  costlier  than  with  mowers'  fare." 

Then  said  Geraint,  "  I  wish  no  better  fare : 
I  never  ate  with  angrier  appetite 
Than  when  I  left  your  mowers  dinnerless. 
And  into  no  Earl's  palace  will  I  go. 
I  know,  God  knows,  too  much  of  palaces ! 
And  if  he  want  me,  let  him  come  to  me. 
But  hire  us  some  fair  chamber  for  the  night, 
And  stalling  for  the  horses,  and  return 
With  victual  for  these  men,  and  let  us  know." 

"  Yea,  my  kind  lord,"  said  the  glad  youth,  and  went, 
Held  his  head  high,  and  thought  himself  a  knight. 
And  up  the  rocky  pathway  disappeared. 
Leading  the  horse,  and  they  were  left  alone. 

But  when  the  Prince  had  brought  his  errant  eyes 
Home  from  the  rock,  sideways  he  let  them  glance 
At  Enid,  where  she  droopt :  his  own  false  doom. 
That  shadow  of  mistrust  should  never  cross 
Betwixt  them,  came  upon  him,  and  he  sighed ; 


56  ENID. 

Then  with  another  humorous  ruth  remarked 

The  lusty  mowers  laboring  dinncrless, 

And  watched  the  sun  blaze  on  the  turning  scythe. 

And  after  nodded  sleepily  in  the  heat 

But  she,  remembering  her  old  ruined  hall, 

And  all  the  windy  clamor  of  the  daws 

About  her  hollow  turret,  plucked  the  grass 

There  growing  longest  by  the  meadow's  edge, 

And  into  many  a  listless  annulet, 

Now  over,  now  beneath  her  marriage  ring, 

Wove  and  unwove  it,  till  the  boy  returned 

And  told  them  of  a  chamber,  and  they  went ; 

Where,  after  saying  to  her,  "  If  you  will. 

Call  for  the  woman  of  the  house,"  to  which 

She  answered,  "  Thanks,  my  lord,"  the  two  remained 

Apart  by  all  the  chamber's  width,  and  mute 

As  creatures  voiceless  through  the  fault  of  birth. 

Or  two  wild  men  supporters  of  a  shield. 

Painted,  who  stare  at  open  space,  nor  glance 

The  one  at  other,  parted  by  the  shield. 

On  a  sudden,  many  a  voice  along  the  street, 
And  heel  against  the  pavement  echoing,  burst 
Their  drowse  ;  and  either  started  while  the  door, 


ENID.  57 

Pushed  from  without,  drare  backward  to  the  wall, 

And  midmost  of  a  rout  of  roisterers. 

Femininely  fair  and  dissolutely  pale, 

Her  suitor  in  old  years  before  Geraint, 

Entered,  the  wild  lord  of  the  place,  Limours. 

He  moving  up  Avith  pliant  courtliness. 

Greeted  Geraint  full  face,  but  stealthily, 

In  the  mid-warmth  of  welcome  and  graspt  hand. 

Found  Enid  with  the  corner  of  his  eye, 

And  knew  her  sitting  sad  and  solitary. 

Then  cried  Geraint  for  wine  and  goodly  cheer 

To  feed  the  sudden  guest,  and  sumptuously 

According  to  his  fashion,  bade  the  host 

Call  in  what  men  soever  were  his  friends. 

And  feast  with  these  in  honor  of  their  earl ; 

"  And  care  not  for  the  cost ;  the  cost  is  mine." 

And  wine  and  food  were  brought,  and  Earl  Limours 
Drank  till  he  jested  vrith  all  ease,  and  told 
Free  tales,  and  took  the  word  and  played  upon  it. 
And  made  it  of  two  colors  ;  for  his  talk, 
When  wine  and  free  companions  kindled  him, 
Was  Avont  to  glance  and  sparkle  like  a  gem 
Of  fifty  facets ;  thus  he  moved  the  Prince 


58  ENID. 

To  laiigliter  and  his  comrades  to  applause. 
Then,  wlien  the  Prince  was  merry,  asked  Limours, 
"  Your  leave,  my  lord,  to  cross  the  room,  and  speak 
To- your  good  damsel  there  who  sits  apart. 
And  seems  so  lonely  ?  "     "  My  free  leave,"  he  said ; 
"  Get  her  to  speak :  she  does  not  speak  to  me." 
Then  rose  Limours  and  looking  at  his  feet, 
Like  him  who  tries  the  bridge  he  fears  may  fail, 
Crost  and  came  near,  lifted  adoring  eyes. 
Bowed  at  her  side  and  uttered  whisperingly : 

"  Enid,  the  pilot  star  of  my  lone  life, 
Enid  my  early  and  my  only  love, 
Enid  the  loss  of  whom  has  turned  me  wild  — 
What  chance  is  this  ?  how  is  it  I  see  you  here  ? 
You  are  m  my  power  at  last,  are  in  my  power. 
Yet  fear  me  not :  I  call  mine  own  self  wild, 
But  keep  a  touch  of  sweet  civility 
Here  in  the  heart  of  waste  and  wilderness. 
I  thought,  but  that  your  father  came  between, 
Li  former  days  you  saw  me  favorably. 
And  if  it  were  so,  do  not  keep  it  back : 
Make  me  a  little  happier  :  let  me  know  it : 
Owe  you  me  nothing  for  a  life  half  lost  ? 


ENID.  59 

Yea,  yea,  the  whole  dear  debt  of  all  you  are. 

And,  Enid,  you  and  he,  I  see  it  with  joy  — 

You  sit  apart,  you  do  not  speak  to  him, 

You  come  with  no  attendance,  page  or  maid, 

To  serve  you  —  does  he  love  you  as  of  old  ? 

For,  call  it  lovers'  quarrels,  yet  I  know 

Though  men  may  bicker  with  the  things  they  love, 

They  would  not  make  them  laughable  in  all  eyes. 

Not  while  they  loved  them  ;  and  your  wretched  dress, 

A  wretched  insult  on  you,  dumbly  speaks 

Your  story,  that  this  man  loves  you  no  more. 

Your  beauty  is  no  beauty  to  him  now : 

A  common  chance  —  right  well  I  know  it  —  palled  — 

For  I  know  men  :  nor  will  you  win  him  back, 

For  the  man's  love  once  gone  never  returns. 

But  here  is  one  who  loves  you  as  of  old ; 

"With  more  exceeding  passion  than  of  old : 

Good,  speak  the  word  :  my  followers  ring  him  round : 

He  sits  unarmed  ;  I  hold  a  finger  up  ; 

They  understand :  no  ;  I  do  not  mean  blood : 

Nor  need  you  look  so  scared  at  what  I  say : 

My  malice  is  no  deeper  than  a  moat. 

No  stronger  than  a  wall :  there  is  the  keep  ; 

He  shall  not  cross  us  more ;  speak  but  the  word  : 


60  ENID. 

Or  speak  it  not ;  but  then  by  Him  that  made  me 
The  one  true  lover  which  you  ever  had, 
I  will  make  use  of  all  the  jjower  I  have. 
O  pardon  me  !  the  madness  of  that  hour, 
When  first  I  parted  from  }'ou,  moves  me  yet." 

At  this  the  tender  sound  of  his  own  voice 
And  sweet  self-pity,  or  the  fancy  of  it, 
Made  his  eye  moist ;  but  Enid  feared  his  eyes, 
Moist  as  they  were,  wine-heated  from  the  feast ; 
And  answered  with  such  craft  as  women  use, 
Guilty  or  guiltless,  to  stave  off  a  chance 
That  breaks  upon  them  perilously,  and  said : 

"  Earl,  if  you  love  me  as  in  former  years, 
And  do  not  practise  on  me,  come  with  morn, 
And  snatch  me  from  him  as  by  violence  ; 
Leave  me  to-night :  I  am  weary  to  the  death." 

Low  at  leave-taking,  with  his  brandished  plume 
Brushing  his  instep,  bowed  the  all-amorous  Earl, 
And  the  stout  Prince  bade  him  a  loud  good-night. 
He  moving  homeward  babbled  to  his  men. 
How  Enid  never  loved  a  man  but  him, 
Nor  cared  a  broken  egg-shell  for  her  lord. 


ENID.  61 

But  Enid  left  alone  with  Prince  Geraint, 
Debating  his  command  of  silence  given, 
And  that  she  now  perforce  must  violate  it, 
Held  commune  with  herself,  and  while  she  held 
He  fell  asleep,  and  Enid  had  no  heart 
To  wake  him,  but  hung  o'er  him,  wholly  pleased 
To  find  him  yet  unwounded  after  fight. 
And  hear  him  breathing  low  and  equally. 
Anon  she  rose,  and  stepping  hghtly,  heaped 
The  pieces  of  his  armor  in  one  place. 
All  to  be  there  against  a  sudden  need ; 
Then  dozed  awhile  herself,  but  overtoiled 
By  that  day's  grief  and  travel,  evermore 
Seemed  catching  at  a  rootless  thorn,  and  then 
Went  slipping  down  horrible  precipices, 
And  strongly  striking  out  her  limbs  awoke  ; 
Then  thought  she  heard  the  wild  Earl  at  the  door, 
"With  all  his  rout  of  random  followers, 
Sound  on  a  dreadful  trumpet,  summoning  her ; 
Which  Avas  the  red  cock  shouting  to  the  light, 
As  the  gray  dawn  stole  o'er  the  dewy  world. 
And  glimmered  on  liis  armor  in  the  room. 
And  once  again  she  rose  to  look  at  it, 
But  touched  it  unawares  :  jangling,  the  casque 


G2  ENID. 

Fell,  and  he  started  u-p  and  stared  at  her. 

Then  breaking  his  command  of  silence  given, 

She  told  liim  all  that  Earl  Limours  had  said, 

Except  the  passage  that  he  loved  her  not ; 

]Sror  left  untold  the  craft  herself  had  used ; 

But  ended  with  apology  so  sweet, 

Low-spoken,  and  of  so  few  words,  and  seemed 

So  justified  by  that  necessity. 

That  though  he  thought  "  Was  it  for  him  she  wept 

In  Devon  ?  "  he  but  gave  a  wrathful  groan, 

Saying,  "  Your  sweet  faces  make  good  fellows  fools 

And  traitors.     Call  the  host  and  bid  him  bring 

Charger  and  palfrey."     So  she  glided  out 

Among  the  heavy  breathings  of  the  house, 

And  like  a  household  Spirit  at  the  walls 

Beat,  till  she  woke  the  sleepers,  and  returned : 

Then  tending  her  rough  lord,  though  all  unasked, 

In  silence,  did  him  service  as  a  squire  ; 

Till  issuing  armed  he  found  the  host  and  cried, 

"  Thy  reckoning,  friend  ?  "  and  ere  he  learnt  it,  '•  Take 

Five  horses  and  their  armors  "  ;  and  the  liost, 

Suddenly  honest,  answered  in  amaze, 

"My  lord,  I  scarce  have  spent  the  worth  of  one !" 

"  You  will  be  all  the  wealthier, "  said  the  Prince, 


ENID.  63 

And  then  to  Enid,  "  Forward  !  and  to-day 
I  charge  you,  Enid,  more  especially, 
Wliat  tiling  soever  you  may  hear,  or  see, 
Or  fancy,  (though  I  count  it  of  small  use 
To  charge  }'0U,)  that  you  speak  not,  but  obey." 

And  Enid  answered,  "  Yea,  my  lord,  I  know 
Your  wish,  and  would  obey ;  but  riding  first, 
I  hear  the  violent  threats  you  do  not  hear, 
I  see  the  danger  wdiich  you  cannot  see  : 
Then  not  to  give  you  warning,  that  seems  hard ; 
Almost  beyond  me  :  yet  I  would  obey." 

"  Yea  so,"  said  he,  "  do  it :  be  not  too  wise  ; 
Seeing  that  you  are  wedded  to  a  man, 
Not  quite  mismated  with  a  yawning  clown. 
But  one  with  arms  to  guard  his  head  and  yours, 
With  eyes  to  find  jou.  out  however  far, 
And  ears  to  hear  you  even  in  his  dreams." 

With  that  he  turned  and  looked  as  keenly  at  her 
As  careful  robins  eye  the  delver's  toil ; 
And  that  within  her,  which  a  wanton  fool. 
Or  hasty  judger,  would  have  called  her  guilt, 


64  ENID. 

Made  her  cheek  burn  and  either  eyehd  fall. 
And  Geraint  looked  and  was  not  satisfied. 

Then  forward  by  a  way  which,  beaten  broad, 
Led  from  the  territory  of  false  Limours 
To  the  waste  earldom  of  another  earl, 
Doorm,  whom  his  shaking  vassals  called  the  Bull, 
Went  Enid  with  her  sullen  follower  on. 
Once  she  looked  back,  and  when  she  saw  him  ride 
More  near  by  many  a  rood  than  yester-morn. 
It  well-nigh  made  her  cheerful ;  till  Geraint 
Wavmg  an  angry  hand,  as  who  should  say, 
"  You  watch  me,"  saddened  all  her  heart  again. 
But  while  the  sun  yet  beat  a  dewy  blade, 
The  sound  of  many  a  heavily-galloping  hoof 
Smote  on  her  ear,  and  turning  round  she  saw 
Dust,  and  the  points  of  lances  bicker  in  it. 
Then  not  to  disobey  her  lord's  behest, 
And  yet  to  give  him  warning,  for  he  rode 
As  if  he  heard  not,  moving  back  she  held 
Her  finger  up,  and  pointed  to  the  dust. 
At  which  the  warrior  in  his  obstinacy. 
Because  she  kept  the  letter  of  his  word 
Was  in  a  manner  pleased,  and  turning,  stood. 


ENID.  65 

And  in  the  moment  after,  wild  Limours, 
Borne  on  a  black  horse,  like  a  thunder-cloud 
Whose  skirts  are  loosened  by  the  breaking  storm, 
Half  ridden  off  with  by  the  thing  he  rode. 
And  all  in  passion  uttering  a  dry  shriek. 
Dashed  on  Geraint,  who  closed  with  him,  and  bore 
Down  by  the  length  of  lance  and  arm  beyond 
The  crupper,  and  so  left  him  stunned  or  dead, 
And  overthrew  the  next  that  followed  him. 
And  blindly  rushed  on  all  the  rout  behind. 
But  at  the  flash  and  motion  of  the  man 
They  vanished  panic-stricken,  hke  a  shoal 
Of  darting  fish,  that  on  a  summer  morn 
Adown  the  crystal  dykes  at  Camelot 
Come  slipping  o'er  their  shadows  on  the  .sand, 
But  if  a  man  who  stands  upon  the  brink 
But  lift  a  shining  hand  against  the  sun, 
There  is  not  left  a  twinkle  of  a  fin 
Betwixt  the  cressy  islets  white  in  flower ; 
So,  scared  but  at  the  motion  of  the  man, 
Fled  all  the  boon  companions  of  the  Earl, 
And  left  him  lying  in  the  public  way ; 
So  vanish  friendships  only  made  in  wine. 
6* 


66  ENID. 

Then  like  a  stormy  sunlight  smiled  Geraint, 
Who  saw  the  chargers  of  the  two  that  fell 
Start  from  their  fallen  lords,  and  wildly  fly, 
Mixt  with  the  flyers.     "  Horse  and  man,"  he  said, 
"  All  of  one  mind  and  all  right-honest  friends  ! 
Kot  a  hoof  left :  and  I  methinks  till  now 
"Was  honest  —  paid  with  horses  and  with  arms  ; 
I  cannot  steal  or  plunder,  no,  nor  beg : 
And  so  what  say  you,  shall  we  strip  him  there 
Your  lover  ?  has  your  palfrey  heart  enough 
To  bear  his  armor  ?  shall  we  fast,  or  dine  ? 
No  ?  —  then  do  you,  being  right  honest,  pray 
That  we  may  meet  the  horsemen  of  Earl  Doorm, 
I  too  would  still  be  honest."     Thus  he  said : 
And  sadly  gazing  on  her  bridle-reins. 
And  answering  not  one  word,  she  led  the  way. 

But  as  a  man  to  whom  a  dreadful  loss 
Falls  in  a  far  land  and  he  knows  it  not, 
But  coming  back  he  learns  it,  and  the  loss 
So  pains  him  that  he  sickens  nigh  to  death ; 
So  fared  it  with  Geraint,  who  being  pricked 
In  combat  with  the  follower  of  the  Earl, 
Bled  underneath  his  armor  secretly. 


ENID.  67 

And  so  rode  on,  nor  told  his  gentle  wife 
What  ailed  him,  hardly  knowing  it  himself, 
Till  his  eye  darkened  and  his  helmet  wagged ; 
And  at  a  sudden  swerving  of  the  road. 
Though  happily  down  on  a  bank  of  grass, 
The  Prince  without  a  word  from  his  horse  fell. 

And  Enid  heard  the  clashing  of  his  fall, 
Suddenly  came,  and  at  his  side  all  pale 
Dismounting,  loosed  the  fastenings  of  his  arms, 
Nor  let  her  true  hand  falter,  nor  blue  eye 
Moisten,  till  she  had  lighted  on  his  wound, 
And  tearing  off  her  veil  of  faded  silk 
Had  bared  her  forehead  to  the  blistering  sun. 
And  swathed  the  hurt  that  drained  her  dear  lord's  life. 
Then  after  all  was  done  that  hand  could  do, 
She  rested,  and  her  desolation  came 
Upon  her,  and  she  wept  beside  the  way. 

And  many  past,  but  none  regarded  her, 
For  in  that  realm  of  lawless  turbulence, 
A  woman  weeping  for  her  murdered  mate 
Was  cared  as  much  for  as  a  summer  shower : 
One  took  him  for  a  victim  of  Earl  Doorm, 


68  KNID. 

Nor  dared  to  waste  a  perilous  pity  on  him : 

Another  hurrying  past,  a  man-at-arms, 

Eode  on  a  mission  to  the  bandit  Earl ; 

Half  whistling  and  half  singing  a  coarse  song, 

He  drove  the  dust  against  her  veilless  eyes  : 

Another,  flying  from  the  wrath  of  Doorm 

Before  an  ever-fancied  arrow,  made 

The  long  way  smoke  beneath  him  in  his  fear ; 

At  which  her  palfrey  whinnying  lifted  heel. 

And  scoured  into  the  coppices  and  was  lost, 

"While  the  great  charger  stood,  grieved  like  a  man. 

But  at  the  point  of  noon  the  huge  Earl  Doorm, 
Broad-faced  with  under-fringe  of  russet  beard, 
Bound  on  a  foray,  rolling  eyes  of  prey. 
Came  riding  with  a  hundred  lances  up ; 
But  ere  he  came,  like  one  that  hails  a  ship. 
Cried  out  with  a  big  voice,  "  What,  is  he  dead  ?  " 
"  No,  no,  not  dead  !  "  she  answered  in  all  haste. 
'''  "Would  some  of  your  kind  people  take  him  up, 
And  bear  him  hence  out  of  this  cruel  sun  : 
Most  sure  am  I,  quite  sure,  he  is  not  dead." 

Then  said  Earl  Doorm  :  "  Well,  if  he  be  not  dead 


ENID.  69 

Why  wail  you  for  liim  thus  ?  you  seem  a  child. 
And  be  he  dead,  I  count  you  for  a  fool ; 
Your  wailing  will  not  quicken  him  :  dead  or  not, 
You  mar  a  comely  face  with  idiot  tears. 
Yet,  since  the  face  is  comely  —  some  of  you. 
Here,  take  him  up,  and  bear  him  to  our  hall : 
An  if  he  live,  we  will  have  him  of  our  band ; 
And  if  he  die,  why  earth  has  earth  enough 
To  hide  him.     See  ye  take  the  charger  too, 
A  noble  one." 

He  spake,  and  past  away, 
But  left  two  brawny  spearmen,  who  advanced, 
Each  growling  like  a  dog,  when  his  good  bone 
Seems  to  be  plucked  at  by  the  village  boys 
Who  love  to  vex  him  eating,  and  he  fears 
To  lose  his  bone,  and  lays  his  foot  upon  it, 
Gnawing  and  growling :  so  the  ruffians  growled, 
Fearing  to  lose,  and  all  for  a  dead  man. 
Their  chance  of  booty  from  the  morning's  raid  ; 
Yet  raised  and  laid  him  on  a  litter-bier, 
Such  as  they  brought  upon  their  forays  out 
For  those  that  might  be  Avounded ;  laid  him  on  it 
All  in  the  hollow  of  his  shield,  and  took 


70  ENID. 

And  bore  him  to  the  naked  hall  of  Doorm, 
(His  gentle  charger  following  him  unled,) 
And  cast  him  and  the  bier  in  which  he  laj 
Down  on  an  oaken  settle  in  the  hall, 
And  then  departed,  hot  in  haste  to  join 
Their  luckier  mates,  but  growling  as  before. 
And  cursing  their  lost  time,  and  the  dead  man, 
And  their  own  Earl,  and  their  own  souls,  and  her. 
They  might  as  well  have  blest  her  :  she  was  deaf 
To  blessing  or  to  cursing  save  from  one. 

So  for  long  hours  sat  Enicl  by  her  lord. 
There  in  the  naked  hall,  propping  his  head, 
And  chafing  his  pale  hands,  and  calling  to  him. 
And  at  the  last  he  wakened  from  his  swoon. 
And  found  his  own  dear  bride  propping  his  head, 
And  chafing  his  faint  hands,  and  calling  to  him ; 
And  felt  the  warm  tears  falling  on  his  face  ; 
And  said  to  liis  own  heart,  "  She  weeps  for  me  "  : 
And  yet  lay  still,  and  feigned  himself  as  dead, 
That  he  might  prove  her  to  the  uttermost. 
And  say  to  his  own  heart,  "  She  weeps  for  me." 

But  in  the  fallinor  afternoon  returned 


ENID.  71 

The  huge  Earl  Doorm  with  plunder  to  the  hall. 

His  lusty  spearmen  followed  him  with  noise : 

Each  hurling  down  a  heap  of  things  that  rang 

Against  the  j)avement,  cast  his  lance  aside, 

And  doffed  his  helm :  and  then  there  fluttered  in, 

Half-bold,  half-frighted,  with  dilated  eyes, 

A  tribe  of  women,  dressed  in  many  hues. 

And  mingled  with  the  spearmen :  and  Earl  Doorm 

Struck  with  a  knife's  haft  hard  against  the  board, 

And  called  for  flesh  and  wine  to  feed  his  spears. 

And  men  brought  in  whole  hogs  and  quarter  beeves, 

And  all  the  hall  was  dim  with  steam  of  flesh  : 

And  none  spake  word,  but  all  sat  down  at  once, 

And  ate  with  tumult  in  the  naked  hall, 

Feeding  like  horses  when  you  hear  them  feed ; 

Till  Enid  shrank  far  back  into  herself. 

To  shun  the  wild  ways  of  the  lawless  tribe. 

But  when  Earl  Doorm  had  eaten  all  he  would, 

He  rolled  his  eyes  about  the  hall,  and  found 

A  damsel  drooping  in  a  corner  of  it. 

Then  he  remembered  her,  and  how  she  wept ; 

And  out  of  her  there  came  a  power  upon  Inm ; 

And  rising  on  the  sudden  he  said,  "  Eat! 

I  never  yet  beheld  a  thing  so  pale. 


72  ENID. 

God's  curse,  it  nicakes  me  mad  to  see  you  weep. 

Eat !     Look  yourself.     Good  luck  had  your  good  man, 

For  were  I  dead,  who  is  it  would  Aveep  for  me  ? 

Sweet  lady,  never  since  I  first  drew  breath 

Have  I  beheld  a  lily  lilve  yourself. 

And  so  there  lived  some  color  in  your  cheek. 

There  is  not  one  among  my  gentlewomen 

Were  fit  to  wear  your  slipper  for  a  glove. 

But  listen  to  me,  and  by  me  be  ruled. 

And  I  will  do  the  thing  I  have  not  done, 

For  you  shall  share  my  earldom  with  me,  girl, 

And  Ave  Avill  live  like  two  birds  in  one  nest. 

And  I  Avill  fetch  you  forage  from  all  fields, 

For  I  compel  all  creatures  to  my  will." 

He  spoke  :  the  braAvny  spearman  let  his  cheek 
Bulge  with  the  unswallovred  piece,  and  turning  stared  ; 
While  some,  whose  souls  the  old  serpent  long  had  drawn 
Down,  as  the  Avorm  draAvs  in  the  Avithered  leaf 
And  makes  it  earth,  hissed  each  at  other's  ear 
What  shall  not  be  recorded  —  women  they, 
Women,  or  Avliat  had  been  those  gracious  things, 
But  noAV  desired  the  humbling  of  their  best, 
Yea,  Avould  liaA'e  helped  him  to  it :  and  all  at  once 


ENID.  73 

They  hated  her,  who  took  no  thought  of  them, 
But  answered  in  low  voice,  her  meek  head  yet   . 
Drooping,  "  I  j)ray  you  of  your  courtesy. 
He  being  as  he  is,  to  let  me  be." 

She  spake  so  low  he  hardly  heard  her  speak, 
But  like  a  mighty  patron,  satisfied 
"With  what  himself  had  done  so  graciously, 
Assumed  that  she  had  thanked  him,  adding,  "  Yea, 
Eat  and  be  glad,  for  I  account  you  mine." 

She  answered  meekly,  "  How  should  I  be  glad 
Henceforth  in  all  the  world  at  anything, 
Until  my  lord  arise  and  look  upon  me  ?  " 

Here  the  huge  Earl  cried  out  upon  her  talk, 
As  all  but  empty  heart  and  weariness 
And  sickly  nothing ;  suddenly  seized  on  her, 
And  bare  her  by  main  violence  to  the  board, 
And  thrust  the  dish  before  her,  crymg,  "  Eat." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Enid,  vext,  "  I  will  not  eat, 
Till  yonder  man  upon  the  bier  arise. 
And  eat  with  me."   "  Drink,  then,"  he  answered,  "  Here ! 

7 


74  ENID. 

(And  filled  a  horn  with  wine  and  held  it  to  her,) 
"  Lo  !  I,  myself,  when  flushed  with  fight,  or  hot, 
God's  curse,  with  anger  —  often  I  myself. 
Before  I  well  have  drunken,  scarce  can  eat : 
Drink,  therefore,  and  the  wine  will  change  your  will." 

"  Not  so,"  she  cried,  "  by  Heaven,  I  will  not  drink. 
Till  my  dear  lord  arise  and  bid  me  do  it, 
And  drink  with  me ;  and  if  he  rise  no  more, 
I  will  not  look  at  wine  until  I  die." 

At  this  he  turned  all  red  and  paced  his  hall, 
Now  gnawed  his  under,  now  his  upper  lip, 
And  coming  up  close  to  her,  said  at  last : 
"  Girl,  for  I  see  you  scorn  my  courtesies, 
Take  warnmg  :  yonder  man  is  surely  dead  : 
And  I  compel  all  creatures  to  my  will. 
Not  eat  nor  drink  ?     And  wherefore  wail  for  one, 
Who  put  your  beauty  to  this  flout  and  scorn 
By  dressing  it  in  rags.     Amazed  am  I, 
Beholding  how  j^ou  butt  against  my  wish 
That  I  forbear  you  thus :  cross  me  no  more. 
At  least  put  off  to  please  me  this  poor  gown, 
This  silken  rag,  this  beggar-woman's  weed : 


ENID.  75 

I  love  that  beauty  should  go  beautifully : 
For  see  you  not  my  gentlewomen  here 
How  gay,  how  suited  to  the  house  of  one, 
Who  loves  that  beauty  should  go  beautifully  ! 
Rise  therefore  ;  robe  yourself  in  this :  obey." 

He  spoke,  and  one  among  his  gentlewomen 
Displayed  a  splendid  silk  of  foreign  loom, 
Where  like  a  shoaling  sea  the  lovely  blue 
Played  into  green,  and  thicker  down  the  front 
With  jewels  than  the  sward  with  drops  of  dew, 
When  all  night  long  a  cloud  clings  to  the  hill, 
And  Avith  the  dawn  ascending  lets  the  day 
Strike  where  it  clung :   so  thickly  shone  the  gems. 

But  Enid  answered,  harder  to  be  moved 
Than  hardest  tyrants  in  their  day  of  power, 
With  life-long  injuries  burning  unavenged. 
And  now  their  hour  has  come  ;  and  Enid  said: 
"  In  this  poor  gown  my  dear  lord  found  me  first, 
And  loved  me  serving  in  my  father's  hall : 
In  this  poor  gown  I  rode  Avith  him  to  court, 
And  there  the  Queen  arrayed  me  like  the  sun : 
In  this  poor  gown  he  bade  me  clothe  myself. 


76  ENID. 

"When  now  we  rode  upon  this  fatal  quest 
Of  honor,  where  no  honor  can  be  gained : 
And  this  poor  gown  I  will  not  cast  aside 
Until  himself  arise  a  living  man, 
And  bid  me  cast  it.     I  have  f^friefs  enouo-h : 
Pray  you  be  gentle,  pray  you  let  me  be  : 
I  never  loved,  can  never  love  but  him : 
Yea,  God,  I  pray  you  of  your  gentleness, 
He  being  as  he  is,  to  let  me  be." 

Then  strode  the  brute  Earl  up  and  down  his  hall, 
And  took  his  russet  beard  between  his  teeth ; 
Last,  coming  up  quite  close,  and  in  his  mood 
Crying,  "  I  count  it  of  no  more  avail. 
Dame,  to  be  gentle  than  ungentle  with  you ; 
Take  my  salute,"  unknightly  with  flat  hand, 
However  lightly,  smote  her  on  the  cheek. 

Then  Enid,  in  her  utter  helplessness, 
And  since  she  thought,  "  He  had  not  dared  to  do  it, 
Except  he  surely  knew  my  lord  was  dead," 
Sent  forth  a  sudden  sharp  and  bitter  cry 
As  of  a  wild  thing  taken  in  the  trap, 
Which  sees  the  trapper  coming  through  the  wood. 


ENID.  77 

This  heard  Geraint,  and  grasping  at  his  sword 
(It  lay  beside  him  in  the  hollow  shield) 
Made  but  a  single  bound,  and  with  a  sweep  of  it 
Shore  through  the  swarthy  neck,  and  like  a  ball 
The  russet-bearded  head  rolled  on  the  floor. 
So  died  Earl  Doorm  by  him  he  counted  dead. 
And  all  the  men  and  women  in  the  hall 
Rose  when  they  saw  the  dead  man  rise,  and  fled 
Yelling  as  from  a  spectre,  and  the  two 
Were  left  alone  together,  and  he  said : 
"  Enid,  I  have  used  you  worse  than  that  dead  man ; 
Done  you  more  wrong ;  we  both  have  undergone 
That  trouble  which  has  left  me  thrice  your  own : 
Henceforward  I  will  rather  die  than  doubt. 
And  here  I  lay  this  penance  on  myself, 
Not,  though  mine  own  ears  heard  you  yester-morn  — 
You  thought  me  sleeping,  but  I  heai'd  you  say, 
I  heard  you  say,  that  you  were  no  true  wife : 
I  swear  I  will  not  ask  your  meaning  in  it : 
I  do  believe  yourself  against  }'ourself. 
And  will  henceforward  rather  die  than  doubt." 

And  Enid  could  not  say  one  tender  word, 
She  felt  so  blunt  and  stupid  at  the  heart : 

7* 


78 


She  only  prayed  him,  "  Fly,  they  will  return 
And  slay  you ;  fly,  your  charger  is  without, 
My  palfrey  lost."     "  Then,  Enid,  shall  you  ride 
Behind  me."     "  Yea,"  said  Enid,  "  let  us  go." 
And  moving  out  they  found  the  stately  horse. 
Who  now  no  more  a  vassal  to  the  thief. 
But  free  to  stretch  his  limbs  in  lawful  fight, 
Neighed  with  all  gladness  as  they  came,  and  stooped 
"With  a  low  whinny  toward  the  pair :  and  she 
Kissed  the  white  star  upon  his  noble  front. 
Glad  also ;  then  Geraint  upon  the  horse 
Mounted,  and  reached  a  hand,  and  on  his  foot 
She  set  her  own  and  climbed ;  he  turned  his  face 
And  kissed  her  climbing,  and  she  cast  her  arms 
About  him,  and  at  once  they  rode  away. 

And  never  yet,  since  high  in  Paradise 
O'er  the  four  rivers  the  first  roses  blew, 
Came  purer  pleasure  unto  mortal  kind 
Than  lived  through  her,  who  in  that  perilous  hour 
Put  hand  to  hand  beneath  her  husband's  heart, 
And  felt  him  hers  again :  she  did  not  weep. 
But  o'er  her  meek  eyes  came  a  happy  mist 
Like  that  which  kept  the  heart  of  Eden  green 


ENID.  79 

Before  the  useful  trouble  of  the  rain : 

Yet  not  so  misty  were  her  meek  blue  eyes 

As  not  to  see  before  them  on  the  path, 

Right  in  the  gateway  of  the  bandit  hold, 

A  knight  of  Arthur's  court,  Avho  laid  his  lance 

In  rest,  and  made  as  if  to  fall  upon  him. 

Then,  fearing  for  his  hurt  and  loss  of  blood. 

She,  with  her  mind  all  full  of  what  had  chanced. 

Shrieked  to  the  stranger,  "  Slay  not  a  dead  man ! " 

"  The  voice  of  Enid,"  said  the  knight ;  but  she. 

Beholding  it  was  Edyrn  son  of  Nudd, 

Was  moved  so  much  the  more,  and  shrieked  again, 

"  O  cousin,  slay  not  him  w^ho  gave  you  life." 

And  Edyrn  moving  frankly  forward  spake : 

"  My  lord  Geraint,  I  greet  you  with  all  love ; 

I  took  you  for  a  bandit  knight  of  Doorm ; 

And  fear  not,  Enid,  I  should  fall  upon  him, 

"Wlio  love  you.  Prince,  with  something  of  tlie  love 

Wherewith  we  love  the  Heaven  that  chastens  us. 

For  once,  when  I  was  up  so  high  in  pride 

That  I  was  half-way  down  the  slope  to  Hell, 

By  overthrowing  me  you  threw  me  higher. 

Now,  made  a  knight  of  Arthur's  Table  Round, 

And  since  I  knew  this  earl,  when  I  myself 


80  ENID. 

Was  half  a  bandit  in  my  lawless  hour, 
I  come  the  mouthpiece  of  our  king  to  Doorm, 
(The  king  is  close  behind  me,)  bidding  him 
Disband  himself,  and  scatter  all  his  powers. 
Submit,  and  hear  the  judgment  of  the  king." 

"  He  hears  the  judgment  of  the  King  of  Kings," 
Cried  the  wan  Prince  ;  "  and  lo  the  powers  of  Doorm 
Are  scattered,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  field, 
Where,  huddled  here  and  there  on  mound  and  knoll. 
Were  men  and  women  staring  and  aghast. 
While  some  yet  fled ;  and  then  he  plainlier  told 
How  the  huge  earl  lay  slain  within  his  hall. 
But  when  the  knight  besought  him,  "  Follow  me, 
Prince,  to  the  camp,  and  in  the  king's  own  ear 
Speak  what  has  chanced ;  you  surely  have  endured 
Strange  chances  here  alone  "  ;  that  other  flushed. 
And  hung  his  head,  and  halted  in  reply. 
Fearing  the  mild  face  of  the  blameless  king, 
And  after  madness  acted  question  asked  : 
Till  Edyrn  crying,  "  If  you  will  not  go 
To  Arthur,  then  will  Arthur  come  to  you." 
"  Enough,"  he  said,  "  I  follow,"  and  they  went. 
But  Enid  in  their  going  had  two  fears. 


EIs^ID.  81 

One  from  the  bandit  scattered  in  the  field, 
And  one  from  Edyrn.     Every  now  and  then, 
When  Edyrn  remed  his  charger  at  her  side, 
She  shrank  a  little.     In  a  hollow  land, 
From  which  old  fires  have  broken,  men  may  fear 
Fresh  fire  and  ruin.     He,  perceiving,  said : 

"  Fair  and  dear  cousin,  you  that  most  had  cause 
To  fear  me,  fear  no  longer,  I  am  changed. 
Yourself  were  first  the  blameless  cause  to  make 
My  nature's  prideful  sparkle  in  the  blood 
Break  into  furious  flame  ;  being  repulsed 
By  Yniol  and  yourself,  I  schemed  and  wrought 
Until  I  overturned  him ;  then  set  up 
(With  one  main  purpose  ever  at  my  heart) 
My  haughty  jousts,  and  took  a  paramour ; 
Did  her  mock-honor  as  the  fairest  fair. 
And,  toppling  over  all  antagonism. 
So  waxed  in  pride,  that  I  believed  myself 
Unconquerable,  for  I  was  well-nigh  mad ; 
And,  but  for  my  main  purpose  in  these  jousts, 
I  should  have  slain  your  father,  seized  yourself. 
I  lived  in  hope  that  some  time  you  would  come 
To  these  my  lists  with  him  whom  best  you  loved ; 


82  ENID. 

And  there,  poor  cousin,  with  3'our  meek  bhie  eyes, 

The  truest  eyes  that  ever  answered  heaven, 

Behold  me  overturn  and  trample  on  him. 

Then,  had  you  cried,  or  knelt,  or  prayed  to  me, 

I  should  not  less  have  killed  him.     And  you  came,  - 

But  once  you  came,  —  and  with  your  own  true  eyes 

Beheld  the  man  you  loved  (I  speak  as  one 

Speaks  of  a  service  done  him)  overthrow 

My  proud  self,  and  my  purpose  three  years  old. 

And  set  his  foot  upon  me,  and  give  me  life. 

There  was  I  broken  down ;  there  was  I  saved : 

Though  thence  I  rode  all-shamed,  hating  the  life 

He  gave  me,  meaning  to  be  rid  of  it. 

And  all  the  penance  the  Queen  laid  upon  me 

Was  but  to  rest  awhile  within  her  court ; 

Where  first  as  sullen  as  a  beast  new-caged, 

And  waiting  to  be  treated  like  a  wolf, 

Because  I  knew  my  deeds  were  known,  I  found, 

Instead  of  scornful  pity  or  pure  scorn. 

Such  fine  reserve  and  noble  reticence, 

Manners  so  kind,  yet  stately,  such  a  grace 

Of  tenderest  courtesy,  that  I  began 

To  glance  behind  me  at  my  former  life. 

And  find  that  it  had  been  the  wolf's  indeed : 


ENID.  83 

And  oft  I  talked  with  Dubric,  the  high  saint, 
Who,  with  mild  heat  of  holy  oratory. 
Subdued  me  somewhat  to  that  gentleness, 
Which,  when  it  weds  with  manhood,  makes  a  man. 
And  you  were  often  there  about  the  Queen, 
But  saw  me  not,  or  marked  not  if  you  saw ; 
Nor  did  I  care  or  dare  to  speak  with  you. 
But  kept  myself  aloof  till  I  was  changed ; 
And  fear  not,  cousin ;  I  am  changed  indeed." 

He  spoke,  and  Enid  easily  believed. 
Like  simple  noble  natures,  credulous 
Of  what  they  long  for,  good  in  friend  or  foe. 
There  most  in  those  who  most  have  done  them  ill. 
And  when  they  reached  the  camp  the  king  himself 
Advanced  to  greet  them,  and  beholding  her 
Though  pale,  yet  happy,  asked  her  not  a  word. 
But  went  apart  with  Edyrn,  whom  he  held 
In  converse  for  a  little,  and  returned. 
And,  gravely  smiling,  lifted  her  from  horse. 
And  kissed  her  with  all  pureness,  brother-like. 
And  showed  an  empty  tent  allotted  her. 
And  glanciug  for  a  minute,  till  he  saw  her 
Pass  into  it,  turned  to  the  Prince,  and  said : 


84 


ENID. 


"  Prince,  when  of  late  you  prayed  me  for  my  leave 
To  move  to  your  own  land,  and  there  defend 
Your  marches,  I  was  pricked  with  some  reproof, 
As  one  that  let  foul  wrong  stagnate  and  be, 
By  having  looked  too  much  through  alien  eyes, 
And  wrought  too  long  with  delegated  hands, 
JSTot  used  mine  own :  but  now  behold  me  come 
To  cleanse  this  common  sewer  of  all  my  realm. 
With  Edyrn  and  with  others  ;  have  you  looked 
At  Edyrn  ?  have  you  seen  how  nobly  changed  ? 
This  work  of  his  is  great  and  wonderful. 
His  very  face  with  change  of  heart  is  changed. 
The  world  will  not  believe  a  man  repents : 
And  this  wise  world  of  ours  is  mainly  right. 
Full  seldom  does  a  man  repent,  or  use 
Both  grace  and  will  to  pick  the  vicious  quitch 
Of  blood  and  custom  wholly  out  of  him. 
And  make  all  clean,  and  plant  himself  afresh. 
Edyrn  has  done  it,  w^eeding  all  his  heart 
As  I  will  weed  this  land  before  I  go. 
I,  therefore,  made  him  of  our  Table  Round, 
Not  rashly,  but  have  proved  him  every  way 
One  of  our  noblest,  our  most  valorous, 
Sanest  and  most  obedient :  and  indeed 


ENID.  85 

This  work  of  Edyrn  wrought  upon  himself 
After  a  life  of  violence,  seems  to  me 
A  thousand-fold  more  great  and  wonderful 
Than  if  a  knight  of  mine,  risking  his  life, 
My  subject  with  my  subjects  under  him, 
Should  make  an  onslaught  single  on  a  realm 
Of  robbers,  though  he  slew  them  one  by  one, 
And  were  liimself  nigh  wounded  to  the  death." 

So  spake  the  king ;  low  bowed  the  Prince,  and  felt 
His  work  was  neither  great  nor  wonderful. 
And  past  to  Enid's  tent ;  and  thither  came 
The  king's  own  leech  to  look  into  his  hurt ; 
And  Enid  tended  on  him  there ;  and  there 
Her  constant  motion  round  him,  and  the  breath 
Of  her  sweet  tendance  hovering  over  him, 
Filled  all  the  genial  courses  of  his  blood 
With  deeper  and  with  ever  deeper  love. 
As  the  southwest  that  blowing  Bala  lake 
Fills  all  the  sacred  Dee.     So  past  the  days. 

But  while  Geraint  lay  healing  of  his  hurt. 
The  blameless  king  went  forth  and  cast  his  eyes 
On  whom  his  father  Uther  left  in  charge 
8 


86  ENID. 

Long  since,  to  guard  the  justice  of  the  king  : 
He  looked  and  found  them  wanting  ;  and  as  now 
Men  weed  the  white  horse  on  the  Berkshire  liills 
To  keep  him  bright  and  clean  as  heretofore, 
He  rooted  out  the  slothful  officer 
Or  guilty,  which  for  bribe  had  winked  at  wrong, 
And  in  their  chairs  set  up  a  stronger  race 
With  hearts  and  hands,  and  sent  a  thousand  men 
To  till  the  wastes,  and  moving  everywhere 
Cleared  the  dark  places  and  let  in  the  law. 
And  broke  the  bandit  holds  and  cleansed  the  land. 

Then,  when  Geraint  was  whole  again,  they  past 
With  Arthur  to  Caerleon  upon  Usk. 
There  the  great  Queen  once  more  embraced  her  friend. 
And  clothed  her  in  apparel  like  the  day. 
And  thousfh  Geraint  could  never  take  a2;ain 
That  comfort  from  their  converse  which  he  took 
Before  the  Queen's  fair  name  was  breathed  upon, 
He  rested  well  content  that  all  was  well. 
Thence  after  tarrying  for  a  space  they  rode. 
And  fifty  knights  rode  with  them  to  the  shores 
Of  Severn,  and  they  past  to  their  own  land. 
And  there  he  kept  the  justice  of  the  king 


ENID.  87 

So  vigorously  yet  mildly,  that  all  hearts 

Applauded,  and  the  spiteful  whisper  died : 

And  being  ever  foremost  in  the  chase 

And  victor  at  the  tilt  and  tournament, 

They  called  him  the  great  Prince  and  man  of  men. 

But  Enid,  whom  her  ladies  loved  to  call 

Enid  the  Fair,  a  grateful  people  named 

Enid  the  Good ;  and  in  their  halls  arose 

The  cry  of  children,  Enids  and  Geraints 

Of  times  to  be ;  nor  did  he  doubt  her  more, 

But  rested  in  her  fealty,  till  he  crowned 

A  happy  life  with  a  fair  death,  and  fell 

Against  the  heathen  of  the  Northern  Sea 

In  battle,  fighting  for  the  blameless  King. 


VIVIEN 


8* 


y  I  YIEN. 


A  STORM  was  coming,  but  the  winds  were  still, 
And  in  the  wild  woods  of  Broceliande, 
Before  an  oak  so  hollow  huge  and  old 
It  looked  a  tower  of  ruined  masonwork, 
At  Merlin's  feet  the  wileful  Vivien  lay. 

The  wilj  Vivien  stole  from  Arthur's  court : 
She  loathed  the  knights,  and  ever  seemed  to  hear 
Their  laughing  comment  when  her  name  was  named. 
For  once,  when  Arthur,  walking  all  alone, 
Vext  at  a  rumor  rife  about  the  Queen, 
Had  met  her,  Vivien,  being  greeted  fair, 
Would  fain  have  wrought  upon  his  cloudy  mood 
With  reverent  eyes  mock-loyal,  shaken  voice, 
And  fluttered  adoration,  and  at  last 
With  dark  sAveet  hints  of  some  who  prized  him  more 


92  VIVIEN. 

Than  M'ho  should  prize  him  mo.-t ;  at  which  the  King 
Had  gazed  upon  her  blankly  and  gone  by  : 
But  one  had  watched,  and  had  not  held  his  peace : 
It  made  the  laughter  of  an  afternoon 
That  Vivien  should  attempt  the  blameless  King. 
And  after  that,  she  set  herself  to  gain 
Him,  the  most  famous  man  of  all  those  times, 
Merlin,  who  knew  the  range  of  all  their  arts. 
Had  built  the  King  his  havens,  ships,  and  halls, 
Was  also  Bard,  and  knew  the  starry  heavens ; 
The  people  called  him  Wizard ;  whom  at  first 
She  played  about  with  slight  and  sprightly  tall^, 
And  vivid  smiles,  and  faintly-venomed  points 
Of  slander,  glancing  here  and  grazing  there ; 
And  yieldmg  to  his  kindlier  moods,  the  Seer 
Would  watch  her  at  her  petulance,  and  play, 
Ev'n  when  they  seemed  unlovable,  and  laugh 
As  those  that  watch  a  kitten ;  thus  he  grew 
Tolerant  of  what  he  half  disdained,  and  she, 
Perceiving  that  she  was  but  half  disdained, 
Began  to  break  her  sports  with  graver  fits, 
Turn  red  or  pale,  would  often  when  they  met 
Sigh  fully,  or  all-silent  gaze  upon  him 
With  such  a  fixt  devotion,  that  the  old  man. 


VIVIEN.  93 

Though  doubtful,  felt  the  flattery,  and  at  times 
Would  flatter  his  own  wish  in  age  for  love, 
And  half  believe  her  true :  for  thus  at  times 
He  wavered ;  but  that  other  clung  to  him, 
Fixt  in  her  will,  and  so  the  seasons  went. 
Then  fell  upon  him  a  great  melancholy ; 
And  leaving  Arthur's  court  he  gained  the  beach  ; 
There  found  a  little  boat,  and  stept  into  it ; 
And  Yivien  followed,  but  he  marked  her  not. 
She  took  the  helm  and  he  the  sail ;  the  boat 
Drave  with  a  sudden  wind  across  the  deeps. 
And  touching  Breton  sands,  they  disembarked. 
And  then  she  followed  Merlin  all  the  way, 
Ev'n  to  the  wild  woods  of  Broceliande. 
For  Merlin  once  had  told  her  of  a  charm, 
The  which  if  any  wrought  on  any  one 
"With  woven  paces  and  Avith  waving  arms, 
The  man  so  wrought  on  ever  seemed  to  lie 
Closed  in  the  four  walls  of  a  hollow  tower, 
From  which  was  no  escape  for  evermore  ; 
And  none  could  find  that  man  for  evermore, 
Nor  could  he  see  but  him  who  wrought  the  charm 
Coming  and  going,  and  he  lay  as  dead 
And  lost  to  life  and  use  and  name  and  fame. 


94  VIVIEN. 

And  Vivien  ever  sought  to  work  the  charm 
Upon  the  great  Enchanter  of  the  Time, 
As  fancying  that  her  glory  would  be  great 
According  to  his  greatness  whom  she  quenched. 

There  lay  she  all  her  length  and  kissed  his  feet, 
As  if  in  deepest  reverence  and  in  love. 
A  snake  of  gold  was  round  her  hair ;  a  robe 
Of  samite  without  price,  that  more  exprest 
Than  hid  her,  clung  about  her  lissome  limbs, 
In  color  like  the  satin-shining  palm 
On  sallows  in  the  windy  gleams  of  March : 
And  while  she  kissed  them,  crying,  "  Trample  me, 
Dear  feet,  that  I  have  followed  through  the  world. 
And  I  will  pay  you  worship  ;  tread  me  down 
And  I  will  kiss  you  for  it "  ;  he  was  mute  ; 
So  dark  a  forethought  rolled  about  his  brain, 
As  on  a  dull  day  in  an  Ocean  cave 
The  blind  wave  feehng  round  his  long  sea-hall 
In  silence  :  wherefore,  when  she  lifted  up 
A  face  of  sad  appeal,  and  spake  and  said, 
"  O  Merlin,  do  you  love  me  ?  "  and  again, 
"  O  MerHn,  do  you  love  me  ?  "  and  once  more, 
"  Great  Master,  do  you  love  me  ?  "  he  was  mute. 


VIVIEN.  95 

And  lissome  Vivien,  holding  by  his  heel, 

"Writhed  toward  him,  sliding  up  his  knee  and  sat, 

Behind  his  ankle  twined  her  hollow  feet 

Together,  curved  an  arm  about  his  neck, 

Clung  like  a  snake  ;  and  letting  her  left  hand 

Droop  from  his  mighty  shoulder,  as  a  leaf. 

Made  with  her  right  a  comb  of  pearl  to  part 

The  lists  of  such  a  beard  as  youth  gone  out 

Had  left  in  ashes  :  then  he  spoke  and  said, 

Not  looking  at  her,  "  Who  are  wise  in  love 

Love  most,  say  least,"  and  Vivien  answered  quick, 

"  I  saw  the  little  elf-god  eyeless  once 

In  Arthur's  arras  hall  at  Camelot : 

But  neither  eyes  nor  tongue  —  O  stupid  child! 

Yet  you  are  wise  who  say  it ;  let  me  think 

Silence  is  wisdom  :  I  am  silent  then 

And  ask  no  kiss  "  ;  then  adding  all  at  once, 

"  And  lo,  I  clothe  myself  with  wisdom,"  drew 

The  vast  and  shaggy  mantle  of  his  beard 

Across  her  neck  and  bosom  to  her  knee, 

And  called  herself  a  gilded  summer  fly 

Caught  in  a  great  old  tyrant  spider's  web, 

AYho  meant  to  eat  her  up  in  that  Avild  wood 

Without  one  word.     So  Vivien  called  herself, 


96  VIVIEN. 

But  rather  seemed  a  lovely  baleful  star 

Veiled  in  gray  vapor ;  till  lie  sadly  smiled : 

"  To  Avhat  request  for  what  strange  boon,"  he  said, 

"  Are  these  your  pretty  tricks  and  fooleries, 

0  Vivien,  the  preamble  ?  yet  my  thanks, 
For  these  have  broken  up  my  melancholy." 

And  Vivien  answered,  smiling  saucily, 
"  What,  O  my  Master,  have  you  found  your  voice  ? 

1  bid  the  stranger  vrelcome.     Thanks  at  last ! 
But  yesterday  you  never  opened  lip, 
Except  mdeed  to  drink :  no  cup  had  we  : 

In  mine  own  lady  palms  I  culled  the  spring 
That  gathered  trickling  dropwise  from  the  cleft. 
And  made  a  pretty  cup  of  both  my  hands, 
And  offered  you  it  kneeling  :  then  you  drank 
And  knew  no  more,  nor  gave  me  one  poor  word ; 
O  no  more  thanks  than  might  a  goat  have  given 
"With  no  more  sign  of  reverence  than  a  beard. 
And  when  we  halted  at  that  other  well, 
And  I  Avas  faint  to  swooning,  and  you  lay 
Foot-gilt  with  all  the  blossom-dust  of  those 
Deep  meadows  we  had  traversed,  did  you  know 
That  Vivien  bathed  your  feet  before  her  own  ? 


VIVIEN.  97 

And  yet  no  thanks  :  and  all  through  this  wild  wood 
And  all  this  morning  when  I  fondled  you : 
Boon,  yes,  there  was  a  boon,  one  not  so  strange  — 
How  had  I  wronged  you  ?  surely  you  are  wise, 
But  such  a  silence  is  more  wise  than  kind." 

And  Merlin  locked  his  hand  in  hers  and  said  : 
"  0  did  you  never  lie  upon  the  shore, 
And  watch  the  curled  white  of  the  coming  wave 
Glassed  in  the  slippery  sand  before  it  breaks  ? 
Even  such  a  wave,  but  not  so  pleasurable. 
Dark  in  the  glass  of  some  presageful  mood. 
Had  I  for  three  days  seen,  ready  to  fall. 
And  then  I  rose  and  fled  from  Arthur's  court 
To  break  the  mood.     You  followed  me  unasked; 
And  when  I  looked,  and  saw  you  following  still. 
My  mind  involved  yourself  the  nearest  thing 
In  that  mind-mist :  for  shall  I  tell  you  truth  ? 
Yoic  seemed  that  wave  about  to  break  upon  me 
And  sweep  me  from  my  hold  upon  the  world. 
My  use  and  name  and  fame.     Your  pardon,  child. 
Your  pretty  sports  have  brightened  all  again. 
And  ask  your  boon,  for  boon  I  owe  you  thrice, 
Once  for  wrong  done  you  by  confusion,  next 


98  VIVIEN. 

For  thanks  it  seems  till  now  neglected,  last 
For  these  your  dainty  gambols  :  wherefore  ask ; 
And  take  this  boon  so  strange  and  not  so  strange." 

And  Yivien  answered,  smiling  mournfully : 
"  0  not  so  strange  as  my  long  asking  it, 
Nor  yet  so  strange  as  you  yourself  are  strange, 
Nor  half  so  strange  as  that  dark  mood  of  yours. 
I  ever  feared  you  w^ere  not  wholly  mine  ; 
And  see,  yourself  have  owned  you  did  me  wrong. 
The  people  call  you  prophet :  let  it  be : 
But  not  of  those  that  can  expound  themselves. 
Take  Vivien  for  expounder ;  she  will  call 
That  three-days-long  presageful  gloom  of  yours 
No  presage,  but  the  same  mistrustful  mood 
That  makes  you  seem  less  noble  than  yourself, 
Whenever  I  have  asked  this  very  boon 
Now  asked  again  :  for  see  you  not,  dear  love, 
That  such  a  mood  as  that,  which  lately  gloomed 
Your  fancy  Avhen  you  saw  me  following  you. 
Must  make  me  fear  still  more  you  are  not  mine, 
Must  make  me  j^earn  still  more  to  prove  you  mine, 
And  make  me  wish  still  more  to  learn  this  charm 
Of  woven  paces  and  of  waving  hands 


VIVIEN.  09 

As  proof  of  trust.     0  Merlin,  teacli  it  me. 
The  charm  so  taught  will  charm  us  both  to  rest. 
For,  grant  me  some  slight  power  upon  your  fate, 
I,  feeling  that  you  felt  me  worthy  trust, 
Should  rest  and  let  you  rest,  knowing  you  mine. 
And  therefore  be  as  great  as  you  are  named, 
Not  muffled  round  with  selfish  reticence. 
How  hard  you  look  and  how  denyingly ! 
O,  if  you  think  this  wickedness  in  me. 
That  I  should  prove  it  on  you  unawares. 
To  make  you  lose  your  use  and  name  and  fame, 
That  makes  me  most  indignant ;  then  our  bond 
Had  best  be  loosed  for  ever  :  but  think  or  not, 
By  Heaven  that  hears,  I  tell  you  the  clean  truth, 
As  clean  as  blood  of  babes,  as  white  as  milk  : 
O  Merlin,  may  this  earth,  if  ever  I, 
If  these  unwitty  wandering  wits  of  mine, 
Ev'n  in  the  jumbled  rubbish  of  a  dream. 
Have  tript  on  such  conjectural  treachery  — 
May  this  hard  earth  cleave  to  the  Nadir  hell 
Down,  down,  and  close  again,  and  nip  me  flat, 
If  I  be  such  a  traitress.     Yield  my  boon. 
Till  which  I  scarce  can  yield  you  all  I  am  j 
And  grant  my  re-reiterated  wish, 


100  VIVIEN. 

The  great  proof  of  your  love  :  because  I  think, 
However  wise,  you  hardly  know  me  yet." 

And  Merlin  loosed  his  hand  from  hers  and  said, 
'•  I  never  was  less  wise,  however  wise, 
Too  curious  Yivien,  though  you  talk  of  trust, 
Than  when  I  told  you  first  of  such  a  charm. 
Yea,  if  you  talk  of  trust,  I  tell  you  this, 
Too  much  I  trusted,  when  I  told  you  that, 
And  stirred  this  vice  in  you  which  ruined  man 
Through  woman  the  first  hour ;  for  howsoe'er 
In  children  a  great  curiousness  be  well, 
"Who  have  to  learn  themselves  and  all  the  world, 
In  you,  that  are  no  child,  for  still  I  find 
Your  face  is  practised,  when  I  spell  the  lines, 
I  call  it,  —  well,  I  will  not  call  it  vice  : 
But  since  you  name  yourself  the  summer-fly, 
I  well  could  wish  a  cobweb  for  the  gnat, 
That  settles,  beaten  back,  and  beaten  back 
Settles,  till  one  could  yield  for  weariness : 
But  since  I  will  not  yield  to  give  you  power 
Upon  my  life  and  use  and  name  and  fame, 
"Why  will  you  never  ask  some  other  boon  ? 
Yea,  by  God's  rood,  I  trusted  you  too  much." 


VIVIEN.  101 

And  Vivien,  like  the  tenderest-liearted  maid 
That  ever  bided  tryst  at  village  stile, 
Made  answer,  either  eyelid  wet  with  tears. 
^'  Nay,  master,  be  not  Avrathful  with  your  maid ; 
Caress  her  :  let  her  feel  herself  forgiven 
Who  feels  no  heart  to  ask  another  boon. 
I  think  you  hardly  know  the  tender  rhyme 
Of  '  trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all.' 
I  heard  the  great  Sir  Lancelot  sing  it  once, 
And  it  shall  answer  for  me.     Listen  to  it. 

*  Li  Love,  if  Love  be  Love,  if  Love  be  ours, 
Faith  and  unfaith  can  ne'er  be  equal  powers : 
Unfaith  in  aught  is  want  of  faith  in  all. 

'  It  is  the  little  rift  within  the  lute, 
That  by  and  by  will  make  the  music  mute, 
And  ever  widening  slowly  silence  all. 

*  The  little  rift  within  the  lover's  lute, 
Or  little  pitted  speck  in  garnered  fruit, 
That  rotting  inward  slowly  moulders  all. 

*  It  is  not  worth  the  keeping:  let  it  go  : 

9* 


102  V^IVIEN. 

But  shall  it  ?  answer,  darling,  answer,  no. 
And  trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all.' 

O  master,  do  you  love  my  tender  rhyme  ?  " 

And  Merlin  looked  and  half  believed  her  true, 
So  tender  was  her  voice,  so  fair  her  face. 
So  sweetly  gleamed  her  eyes  behind  her  tears 
Like  sunlight  on  the  plain  behind  a  shower : 
And  yet  he  answered  half  indignantly. 

"  Far  other  was  the  song  that  once  I  heard 
By  this  huge  oak,  sung  nearly  where  we  sit : 
For  here  we  met,  some  ten  or  twelve  of  us. 
To  chase  a  creature  that  was  current  then 
In  these  wild  woods,  the  hart  with  golden  horns. 
It  was  the  time  when  first  the  question  rose 
About  the  founding  of  a  Table  Hound 
That  was  to  be,  for  love  of  God  and  men 
And  noble  deeds,  the  flower  of  all  the  Avorld. 
And  each  incited  each  to  noble  deeds. 
And  Avhile  we  waited,  one,  the  youngest  of  us, 
"We  could  not  keep  him  silent,  out  he  flashed. 
And  into  such  a  song,  such  fire  for  fame. 


VIVIEN.  103 

Such  trumpet-blowings  in  it,  coming  down 

To  such  a  stern  and  iron-clashing  close, 

That  when  he  stopt  we  longed  to  hurl  together. 

And  should  have  done  it ;  but  the  beauteous  beast 

Scared  hy  the  noise  upstarted  at  our  feet. 

And  like  a  silver  shadow  slipt  away 

Through  the  dim  land ;  and  all  day  long  we  rode 

Through  the  dim  land  against  a  rushing  wind. 

That  glorious  roundel  echoing  in  our  ears, 

And  chased  the  flashes  of  his  golden  horns 

Until  they  vanished  by  the  fairy  well 

That  laughs  at  iron  —  as  our  warriors  did  — 

Where  children  cast  their  pins  and  nails,  and  cry, 

*  Laugh,  little  well,'  but  touch  it  with  a  sword. 

It  buzzes  wildly  round  the  point ;  and  there 

"We  lost  him :  such  a  noble  song  was  that. 

But,  Vivien,  when  you  sang  me  that  sweet  rhyme, 

I  felt  as  though  you  knew  this  cursed  charm, 

Were  proving  it  on  me,  and  that  I  lay 

And  felt  them  slowly  ebbing,  name  and  fame." 

And  Vivien  answered  smiling  mournfully; 
"  O  mine  have  ebbed  away  for  evermore. 
And  all  through  following  you  to  this  wild  wood. 


104  VIVIEN. 

Because  I  saw  you  sad,  to  comfort  3'ou. 

Lo  now,  what  hearts  have  men !  they  never  mount 

As  high  as  woman  in  her  selfless  mood. 

And  touching  fame,  howe'er  you  scorn  my  song, 

Take  one  verse  more  —  the  lady  speaks  it  —  this  : 

^  My  name,  once  mine,  now  thine,  is  closelier  mine. 
For  fame,  could  fame  be  mine,  that  fame  were  thine. 
And  shame,  could  shame  be  thine,  that  shame  were  mine. 
So  trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all.' 

"  Says  she  not  well  ?  and  there  is  more  —  this  rhyme 
Is  like  the  fair  pearl-necklace  of  the  Queen, 
That  burst  in  dancing,  and  the  pearls  were  spilt ; 
Some  lost,  some  stolen,  some  as  relics  kept. 
But  nevermore  the  same  two  sister  pearls 
Ran  down  the  silken  thread  to  kiss  each  other 
On  her  white  neck  —  so  is  it  with  this  rhyme : 
It  lives  dispersedly  in  many  hands, 
And  every  minstrel  sings  it  differently  ; 
Yet  is  there  one  true  line,  the  pearl  of  pearls : 
'  Man  dreams  of  Fame,  while  woman  wakes  to  love.' 
True :  Love,  though  Love  were  of  the  grossest,  carves 
A  portion  from  the  solid  present,  eats 


VIVIEN.  105 

And  uses,  careless  of  the  rest ;  but  Fame, 
The  Fame  that  follows  death  is  nothing  to  us ; 
And  what  is  fame  in  life  but  half-disfame. 
And  counterchanged  with  darkness  ?  you  yourself 
Know  well  that  Envy  calls  you  Devil's  son, 
And  since  you  seem  the  Master  of  all  Art, 
They  fain  would  make  you  Master  of  all  Vice." 

And  Merlin  locked  his  hand  in  hers  and  said, 
"  I  once  was,looking  for  a  magic  Aveed, 
And  found  a  fair  young  squire  who  sat  alone,    . 
Had  carved  himself  a  knightly  shield  of  wood. 
And  then  was  painting  on  it  fancied  arms. 
Azure,  an  Eagle  rising  or,  the  Sun 
In  dexter  chief ;  the  scroll,  '  I  follow  fame.' 
And  speaking  not,  but  leaning  over  him, 
I  took  his  brush  and  blotted  out  the  bird, 
And  made  a  Gardener  putting  in  a  graff, 
"With  this  for  motto,  '  Rather  use  than  fame.' 
You  should  have  seen  him  blush  ;  but  afterwards 
He  made  a  stalwart  knight.     O  Vivien, 
For  you,  methinks  you  think  you  love  me  well ; 
For  me,  I  love  you  somewhat ;  rest :  and  Love 
Should  have  some  rest  and  pleasure  in  himself, 


106  VIVIEN. 

Not  ever  be  too  curious  for  a  boon, 
Too  prurient  for  a  proof  against  the  grain 
Of  liim  you  say  you  love  :  but  Fame  with  men, 
Being  but  ampler  means  to  serve  mankind. 
Should  have  small  rest  or  pleasure  in  herself, 
But  work  as  vassal  to  the  larger  love, 
That  dwarfs  the  petty  love  of  one  to  one. 
Use  gave  me  Fame  at  first,  and  Fame  again 
Increasmg  gave  me  use.     Lo,  there  my  boon  ! 
What  other  ?  for  men  sought  to  prove  me  vile, 
Because  I  wished  to  give  them  greater  minds  : 
And  then  did  Envy  call  me  Devil's  son : 
The  sick  weak  beast  seeking  to  help  herself 
By  strildng  at  her  better,  missed,  and  brought 
Her  own  claAV  back,  and  wounded  her  own  heart. 
Sweet  were'  the  days  when  I  was  all  unknown. 
But  when  my  name  was  lifted  up,  the  storm 
Broke  on  the  mountain  and  I  cared  not  for  it. 
Right  well  know  I  that  Fame  is  half-disfame. 
Yet  needs  must  work  my  work.     That  other  fame, 
To  one  at  least,  who  hath  not  children,  vague. 
The  cackle  of  the  unborn  about  the  grave, 
I  cared  not  for  it :  a  single  misty  star, 
That  is  the  second  in  a  line  of  stars 


VIVIEN.  107 

That  seem  a  sword  beneath  a  belt  of  tliree, 

I  never  gazed  upon  it  but  I  dreamt 

Of  some  vast  charm  conckided  in  that  star 

To  make  fame  nothing.     Wherefore,  if  I  fear, 

Giving  you  power  upon  me  through  this  chai-m, 

That  you  might  play  me  falsely,  having  power, 

However  well  you  think  you  love  me  now, 

(As  sons  of  kings  loving  in  pupilage 

Have  turned  to  tyrants  when  they  came  to  power,) 

I  rather  di-ead  the  loss  of  use  than  fame ; 

If  you  —  and  not  so  much  from  wickedness, 

As  some  wild  turn  of  anger,  or  a  mood 

Of  overstrained  affection,  it  may  be. 

To  keep  me  all  to  your  own  self,  or  else 

A  sudden  spurt  of  woman's  jealousy  — 

Should  try  this  charm  on  whom  you  say  you  love." 

And  Vivien  answered  smiling  as  in  wrath. 
"  Have  I  not  sworn  ?     I  am  not  trusted.     Good ! 
Well,  hide  it,  hide  it ;  I  shall  find  it  out ; 
And  being  found  take  heed  of  Vivien  then. 
A  woman  and  not  trusted,  doubtless  I 
Might  feel  some  sudden  turn  of  anger  born 
Of  your  misfaith ;  and  your  fine  epithet 


108  VIVIEN. 

Is  accurate  too,  for  this  full  love  of  mine 
Without  the  full  heart  back  may  merit  well 
Your  term  of  overstrained.     So  used  as  I, 
My  daily  wonder  is,  I  love  at  all. 
And  as  to  woman's  jealousy,  O  why  not  ? 

0  to  what  end,  except  a  jealous  one. 
And  one  to  make  me  jealous  if  I  love, 
Was  this  fair  charm  invented  by  yourself? 

1  well  believe  that  all  about  this  world 
You  cage  a  buxom  captive  here  and  there. 
Closed  in  the  four  walls  of  a  hollow  tower 
From  which  is  no  escape  for  evermore." 

Then  the  great  Master  merrily  answered  her. 
"  Full  many  a  love  in  loving  youth  was  mine, 
I  needed  then  no  charm  to  keep  them  mine 
But  youth  and  love ;  and  that  full  heart  of  yours 
Whereof  you  prattle,  may  now  assure  you  mine ; 
So  live  uncharmed.     For  those  who  wrought  it  first. 
The  wrist  is  parted  from  the  hand  that  waved, 
The  feet  unmortised  from  their  ankle-bones 
Who  paced  it,  ages  back :  but  will  you  hear 
The  legend  as  in  guerdon  for  your  rhyme  ? 


VIVIEN'.  109 

"  There  lived  a  king  in  the  most  Eastern  East, 
Less  old  than  I,  yet  older,  for  my  blood 
Hath  earnest  in  it  of  far  springs  to  be. 
A  tawny  pirate  anchored  in  his  port. 
Whose  bark  had  plundered  twenty  nameless  isles ; 
And  passing  one,  at  the  high  peep  of  dawn, 
He  saw  two  cities  in  a  thousand  boats 
All  fighting  for  a  woman  on  the  sea. 
And  pushing  his  black  craft  among  them  all, 
He  lightly  scattered  theirs  and  brought  her  off, 
With  loss  of  half  his  people  arrow-slain  ; 
A  maid  so  smooth,  so  white,  so  wonderful, 
They  said  a  light  came  from  her  when  she  moved : 
And  since  the  pirate  would  not  yield  her  up, 
The  king  impaled  him  for  his  piracy ; 
Then  made  her  Queen :  but  those  isle-nurtured  eyes 
Waged  such  unwilling  though  successful  war 
On  all  the  youth,  they  sickened ;  councils  thinned, 
And  armies  waned,  for  magnet-like  she  drew 
The  rustiest  iron  of  old  fighters'  hearts ; 
And  beasts  themselves  would  worship ;  camels  knelt 
Unbidden,  and  the  brutes  of  mountain  back 
That  carry  kings  in  castles  bowed  black  knees 
Of  homage,  ringing  with  their  serpent  hands, 
10 


110  VIVIEN. 

To  make  her  smile,  her  golden  ankle-bells. 

"What  wonder,  being  jealous,  that  he  sent 

His  horns  of  proclamation  out  through  all 

The  hundred  under-kingdoms  that  he  swayed 

To  find  a  wizard  who  might  teach  the  king 

Some  charm,  which  being  wrought  upon  the  Queen 

Might  keep  her  all  his  own :  to  such  a  one 

He  promised  more  than  ever  king  has  given, 

A  league  of  mountain  full  of  golden  mines, 

A  province  with  a  hundred  miles  of  coast, 

A  palace  and  a  princess,  all  for  him : 

But  on  all  those  who  tried  and  failed,  the  king 

Pronounced  a  dismal  sentence,  meaning  by  it 

To  keep  the  list  low  and  j)retenders  back. 

Or  like  a  king,  not  to  be  trifled  with  — 

Their  heads  should  moulder  on  the  city  gates. 

And  many  tried  and  failed,  because  the  charm 

Of  nature  in  her  overbore  their  own : 

And  many  a  wizard  brow  bleached  on  the  walls : 

And  many  weeks  a  troop  of  carrion  crows 

Hung  like  a  cloud  above  the  gateway  towers." 

And  Vivien  breaking  in  upon  him,  said : 
"  I  sit  and  gather  honey ;  yet,  methinks, 


YIVIEN.  Ill 

Your  tongue  has  tript  a  little :  ask  yourself. 

The  lady  never  made  umvilling  war 

"With  those  fine  eyes  :  she  had  her  jDleasure  in  it, 

And  made  her  good  man  jealous  with  good  cause. 

And  lived  there  neither  dame  nor  damsel  then 

Wroth  at  a  lover's  loss  ?  were  all  as  tame, 

I  mean,  as  noble,  as  their  Queen  was  fair  ? 

Not  one  to  flirt  a  venom  at  her  eyes. 

Or  pinch  a  murderous  dust  into  her  drink. 

Or  make  her  paler  with  a  poisoned  rose  ? 

Well,  those  were  not  our  days  :  but  did  they  find 

A  wizard  ?     Tell  me,  was  he  like  to  thee  ?  " 

She  ceased,  and  made  her  lithe  arm  round  his  neck 
Tighten,  and  then  drew  back,  and  let  her  eyes 
Speak  for  her,  glowing  on  him,  like  a  bride's 
On  her  new  lord,  her  own,  the  first  of  men. 

He  answered  laughing,  "  Nay,  not  lilvc  to  me. 
At  last  they  found  —  his  foragers  for  charms  — 
A  little  glassy-headed  hairless  man. 
Who  lived  alone  in  a  great  wild  on  grass ; 
E-ead  but  one  book,  and  ever  reading  grew 
So  grated  down  and  filed  away  with  thought, 


112  VIVIEN. 

So  lean  his  eyes  were  monstrous ;  while  the  skin 
Clung  but  to  crate  and  basket,  ribs  and  spine. 
And  since  he  kept  his  mind  on  one  sole  aim, 
Nor  ever  touched  fierce  wine,  nor  tasted  flesh, 
Nor  owned  a  sensual  wish,  to  him  the  wall 
That  sunders  ghosts  and  shadow-casting  men 
Became  a  crystal,  and  he  saw  them  through  it. 
And  heard  their  voices  talk  behind  the  wall, 
And  learnt  their  elemental  secrets,  powers 
And  forces ;  often  o'er  the  sun's  bright  eye 
Drew  the  vast  ej^elid  of  an  inky  cloud. 
And  lashed  it  at  the  base  with  slanting  storm ; 
Or  in  the  noon  of  mist  and  driving  rain, 
TThen  the  lake  whitened  and  the  pine-wood  roared, 
And  the  cairned  mountain  was  a  shadow,  sunned 
The  world  to  peace  again :  here  was  the  man. 
And  so  by  force  they  dragged  him  to  the  king. 
And  then  he  taught  the  king  to  charm  the  Queen 
In  such-wise,  that  no  man  could  see  her  more. 
Nor  saw  she  save  the  king,  who  wrought  the  charm, 
Coming  and  going,  and  she  lay  as  dead, 
And  lost  all  use  of  life  :  but  when  the  king 
Made  proffer  of  the  league  of  golden  mines. 
The  province  with  a  hundred  miles  of  coast, 


VIVIEN.  113 

The  palace  and  the  princess,  that  old  man 
Went  back  to  his  old  wild,  and  lived  on  grass. 
And  vanished,  and  his  book  came  down  to  me." 

And  Yivien  answered  smiling  saucily : 
"  You  have  the  book  :  the  charm  is  Avritten  in  it : 
Good  :  take  my  counsel :  let  me  know  it  at  once  : 
For  keep  it  like  a  puzzle  chest  in  chest, 
"With  each  chest  locked  and  padlocked  thirty-fold, 
And  whelm  all  this  beneath  as  vast  a  mound 
As  after  furious  battle  turfs  the  slain 
On  some  wild  down  above  the  windy  deep, 
I  yet  should  strike  upon  a  sudden  means 
To  dig,  pick,  open,  find  and  read  the  charm : 
Then,  if  I  tried  it,  who  should  blame  me  tlien  ?  " 

And  smiling  as  a  Master  smiles  at  one 
That  is  not  of  his  school,  nor  any  school 
But  that  where  blind  and  naked  Ignorance 
Delivers  brawling  judgments,  unashamed. 
On  all  things  all  day  long,  he  answered  her. 

"  Yoit  read  the  book,  my  pretty  Vivien ! 
O,  ay,  it  is  but  twenty  pages  long, 

10=^ 


114  VIVIEN. 

But  every  page  having  an  ample  marge, 

And  every  marge  enclosing  in  tlie  midst 

A  square  of  text  that  looks  a  little  blot, 

The  text  no  larger  than  the  limbs  of  fleas  ; 

And  every  square  of  text  an  awful  charm, 

Writ  in  a  language  that  has  long  gone  by. 

So  long,  that  mountains  have  arisen  since 

With  cities  on  their  flanks  —  you  read  the  book  ! 

And  every  margin  scribbled,  crost,  and  crammed 

With  comment,  densest  condensation,  hard 

To  mind  and  eye ;  but  the  long  sleepless  nights 

Of  my  long  life  have  made  it  easy  to  me. 

And  none  can  read  the  text,  not  even  I ; 

And  none  can  read  the  comment  but  myself; 

And  in  the  comment  did  I  find  the  charm. 

O,  the  results  are  simple ;  a  mere  child 

Might  use  it  to  the  harm  of  any  one, 

And  never  could  undo  it :  ask  no  more  : 

For  though  you  should  not  prove  it  upon  me. 

But  keep  that  oath  you  swore,  you  might,  perchance. 

Assay  it  on  some  one  of  the  Table  Round, 

And  all  because  you  dream  they  babble  of  you." 

And  Vivien,  frowning  in  true  anger,  said : 


VIVIEN.  115 

"  What  dare  the  stall-fed  liars  say  of  me  ? 
They  ride  abroad  redressing  human  wrongs  ! 
They  sit  with  knife  in  meat  and  wine  in  horn. 
They  bound  to  holy  vows  of  chastity  ! 
Were  I  not  woman,  I  could  tell  a  tale. 
"  But  you  are  man,  you  well  can  understand 
The  shame  that  cannot  be  explained  for  shame. 
Not  one  of  all  the  drove  should  touch  me :  swine  ! " 

Then  answered  Merlin  careless  of  her  words. 
"  You  breathe  but  accusation  vast  and  vaojue. 
Spleen-born,  I  think,  and  proofless.     If  you  know, 
Set  up  the  charge  you  know,  to  stand  or  fall ! " 

And  Vivien  answered  frowning  wrathfuUy. 
"  O,  ay,  what  say  ye  to  Sir  Valence,  him 
Whose  kinsman  left  him  watcher  o'er  his  wife 
And  two  fair  babes,  and  went  to  distant  lands ; 
Was  one  year  gone,  and  on  returning  found 
Not  two  but  three :  there  lay  the  reckling,  one 
But  one  hour  old.     What  said  the  happy  sire  ? 
A  seven  months'  babe  had  been  a  truer  gift. 
Those  twelve  sweet  moons  confused  his  fatherhood." 


116  VIVIEN. 

Then  answered  Merlin,  "  Nay,  I  know  the  tale. 
»Sir  Valence  wedded  with  an  outland  dame : 
Some  cause  had  kept  him  sundered  from  his  wife : 
One  child  they  had :  it  lived  with  her :  she  died : 
His  kinsman  travelling  on  his  own  affair 
Was  charged  by  Valence  to  bring  home  the  child. 
He  brought,  not  found  it  therefore  :  take  the  truth." 

"  0,  ay,"  said  Vivien,  "  overtrue  a  tale. 
"Wliat  say  ye  then  to  sweet  Sir  Sagramore, 
That  ardent  man  ?     "  To  pluck  the  flower  in  season," 
So  says  the  song,  "  I  trow  it  is  no  treason." 

0  Master,  shall  we  call  him  overquick 

To  crop  his  OAvn  sweet  rose  before  the  hour  ?  " 

And  Merlin  answered,  "  Overquick  are  you 
To  catch  a  lothly  plume  fallen  from  the  wing 
Of  that  foul  bird  of  rapine  whose  whole  prey 
Is  man's  good  name :  he  never  wronged  his  bride. 

1  know  the  tale.     An  angry  gust  of  wind 
Puffed  out  his  torch  among  the  myriad-roomed 
And  many-corridored  complexities 

Of  Arthur's  palace :  then  he  found  a  door 
And  darkling  felt  the  sculptured  ornament 


VIVIEN.  117 

That  wreathen  round  it  made  it  seem  his  own ; 
And  Avearied  out  made  for  the  couch  and  slept, 
A  stainless  man  beside  a  stainless  maid ; 
And  either  slept,  nor  knew  of  other  there ; 
Till  the  high  dawn  piercing  the  royal  rose 
In  Arthur's  casement  glimmered  chastely  down, 
Blushing  upon  them  blushing,  and  at  once 
He  rose  without  a  word  and  parted  from  her : 
But  when  the  thing  was  blazed  about  the  court, 
The  brute  world  howling  forced  them  into  bonds, 
And  as  it  chanced  they  are  happy,  being  pure." 

"  O,  ay,"  said  Vivien,  "  that  were  likely  too. 
"What  say  ye  then  to  fair  Sir  Percivale 
And  of  the  horrid  foulness  that  he  wrought, 
The  saintly  youth,  the  spotless  lamb  of  Christ, 
Or  some  black  wether  of  St.  Satan's  fold. 
What,  in  the  precincts  of  the  chapel-yard. 
Among  the  knightly  brasses  of  the  graves. 
And  by  the  cold  Hie  Jacets  of  the  dead ! " 

And  Merlin  answered,  careless  of  her  charge. 
"A  sober  man  is  Percivale  and  pure  ; 
But  once  in  life  was  flustered  with  new  Avine, 


118  VIVIEN. 

Then  paced  for  coolness  in  the  chapel-yard ; 

Where  one  of  Satan's  shepherdesses  caught 

And  meant  to  stamp  him  with  her  master's  mark  ; 

And  that  he  sinned,  is  not  believable  ; 

For,  look  upon  his  face  !  —  but  if  he  sinned, 

The  sin  that  practice  burns  into  the  blood, 

And  not  the  one  dai'k  hour  which  brings  remorse, 

Will  brand  us,  after,  of  whose  fold  we  be : 

Or  else  were  he,  the  holy  king,  whose  hymns 

Are  chanted  in  the  minster,  Morse  than  all. 

But  is  your  spleen  frothed  out,  or  have  ye  more  ? ' 

And  Vivien  answered,  frowning  yet  in  wrath : 
"  0,  ay ;  Avhat  say  ye  to  Sir  Lancelot,  friend  ? 
Traitor  or  true  ?  that  commerce  with  the  Queen, 
I  ask  you,  is  it  clamored  by  the  child. 
Or  wliispered  in  the  corner  ?  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

To  which  he  answered  sadly,  "  Yea,  I  know  it. 
Sir  Lancelot  went  ambassador,  at  first. 
To  fetch  her,  and  she  took  him  for  the  king ; 
So  lixt  her  fancy  on  him :  let  him  be. 
But  have  you  no  one  word  of  loyal  praise 
For  Arthur,  blameless  kins;  and  stainless  man  ?  " 


VIVIEN.  119 

She  answered,  with  a  low  and  chuckling  laugh : 
"  Him  ?  is  he  man  at  all  who  knows  and  winks  ? 
Sees  what  his  fair  bride  is  and  does,  and  winks  ? 
By  which  the  good  king  means  to  bhnd  himself. 
And  blinds  himself  and  all  the  Table  Round 
To  all  the  foulness  that  they  work.     Myself 
Could  call  him  (were  it  not  for  womanhood) 
The  pretty,  popular  name  such  manhood  earns. 
Could  call  him  the  main  cause  of  all  their  crime  ; 
Yea,  were  he  not  crowned  king,  coward,  and  fool." 

Then  Merlin  to  his  own  heart,  loathing,  said : 
"  O  true  and  tender  !  O  my  liege  and  king ! 
O  selfless  man  and  stainless  gentleman. 
Who  wouldst  against  thine  own  eyewitness  fain 
Have  all  men  true  and  leal,  all  women  pure ; 
How,  in  the  mouths  of  base  interpreters, 
From  over-fineness  not  intelligible 
To  things  with  every  sense  as  false  and  foul 
As  the  poached  filth  that  floods  the  middle  street, 
Is  thy  white  blamelessness  accounted  blame  !  " 

But  Vivien  deeming  Merlin  overborne 
By  instance,  recommenced,  and  let  her  tongue 


120  VIVIEN. 

Rage  like  a  fire  among  the  noblest  names, 
Polluting,  and  imputing  her  whole  self, 
Defaming  and  defacing,  till  she  left 
jS'ot  even  Lancelot  brave,  nor  Galahad  clean. 

Her  words  had  issue  other  than  she  willed. 
He  dragged  his  eyebrow  bushes  down,  and  made 
A  snowy  penthouse  for  his  hollow  eyes. 
And  muttered  in  himself,  "  Tell  her  the  charm  ! 
So,  if  she  had  it,  would  she  rail  on  me 
To  snare  the  next,  and  if  she  have  it  not. 
So  will  she  rail.     TTliat  did  the  wanton  say  ? 
'•  Not  mount  as  high ' ;  we  scarce  can  sink  as  low 
For  men  at  most  differ  as  Heaven  and  earth. 
But  women,  worst  and  best,  as  Heaven  and  Hell. 
I  know  the  Table  Round,  my  friends  of  old  ; 
All  brave,  and  many  generous,  and  some  chaste. 
I  think  she  cloaks  the  wounds  of  loss  with  lies  ; 
I  do  believe  she  tempted  them  and  failed. 
She  is  so  bitter  :  for  fine  plots  may  fail. 
Though  harlots  paint  their  talk  as  well  as  face 
With  colors  of  the  heart  that  are  not  theirs. 
I  will  not  let  her  know :  nine  tithes  of  times 
Face-flatterers  and  backbiters  are  the  same. 


VIVIEN.  121 

And  they,  sweet  soul,  that  most  impute  a  crime 
Are  pronest  to  it,  and  impute  themselves, 
"Wanting  the  mental  range ;  or  low  desire 
Not  to  feel  lowest  makes  them  level  all ; 
Yea,  they  Avould  pare  the  mountain  to  the  plain, 
To  leave  an  equal  baseness ;  and  in  this 
Are  harlots  like  the  crowd,  that  if  they  find 
Some  stain  or  blemish  in  a  name  of  note, 
Kot  grieving  that  their  greatest  are  so  small, 
Inflate  themselves  with  some  insane  delight, 
And  judge  all  nature  from  her  feet  of  clay. 
Without  the  will  to  lift  their  eyes,  and  see 
Her  godlike  head  crowned  Avith  spiritual  fire, 
And  touching  other  worlds.     I  am  weary  of  her." 

He  spoke  in  words  part  heard,  in  whispers  part, 
Half  suffocated  in  the  hoary  fell 
And  many-wintered  fleece  of  throat  and  chin. 
But  Vivien,  gathering  somewhat  of  his  mood, 
And  hearing  "  harlot "  muttered  twice  or  thrice, 
Leapt  from  her  session  on  his  lap,  and  stood 
Stiff*  as  a  viper  frozen  ;  loathsome  sight. 
How  from  the  rosy  lips  of  life  and  love 
Flashed  the  bare-grinning  skeleton  of  death  ! 
11 


122  VIVIEN. 

"White  was  lier  cheek ;  sharp  breaths  of  anger  puffed 

Her  fairy  nostril  out ;  her  hand  half  clenched 

Went  faltering  sideways  dowmvard  to  her  belt, 

And  feeling ;  had  she  found  a  dagger  there, 

(For  in  a  wink  the  false  love  turns  to  hate,) 

She  would  have  stabbed  him ;  but  she  found  it  not : 

His  eye  was  calm,  and  suddenly  she  took 

To  bitter  weeping  like  a  beaten  child, 

A  long,  long  weeping,  not  consolable. 

Then  her  false  voice  made  way  broken  with  sobs. 

"  O  crueller  than  was  ever  told  in  tale, 
Or  sung  in  song  !     O  vainly  lavished  love  ! 
0  cruel,  there  was  nothing  wild  or  strange. 
Or  seeming  shameful,  for  what  shame  in  love. 
So  love  be  true,  and  not  as  yours  is  —  nothing 
Poor  Yivien  had  not  done  to  win  his  trust 
"Who  called  her  what  he  called  her  —  all  her  crime. 
All  —  all  —  the  wish  to  prove  him  wholly  hers." 

She  mused  a  little,  and  then  clapt  her  hands 
Together  with  a  wailing  shriek,  and  said  : 
"  Stabbed  through  the  heart's  affections  to  the  heart ! 
Seethed  like  the  kid  in  its  ov/n  mother's  milk ! 


VIVIEN.  123 

Killed  with  a  word  worse  than  a  Hfe  of  blows ! 
I  thought  that  he  was  gentle,  being  great : 

0  God,  that  I  had  loved  a  smaller  man ! 

1  should  have  found  in  him  a  greater  heart. 
O,  I,  that  flattering  my  true  passion,  saw 

The  knights,  the  court,  the  king,  dark  in  your  light, 

Who  loved  to  make  men  darker  than  they  are. 

Because  of  that  high  pleasure  which  I  had 

To  seat  you  sole  upon  my  pedestal 

Of  worship  —  I  am  answered,  and  henceforth 

The  course  of  life  that  seemed  so  flowery  to  me 

With  you  for  guide  and  master,  only  you. 

Becomes  the  sea-clitF  pathway  broken  short, 

And  ending  in  a  ruin  —  nothing  left. 

But  into  some  low  cave  to  crawl,  and  there, 

If  the  wolf  spare  me,  weep  my  life  away. 

Killed  with  inutterable  unkindliness." 

She  paused,  she  turned  away,  she  hung  her  head, 
The  snake  of  gold  slid  from  her  hair,  the  braid 
Shpt  and  uncoiled  itself,  she  wept  afresh. 
And  the  dark  wood  grew  darker  toward  the  storm 
In  silence,  while  his  anger  slowly  died 
Within  him,  till  he  let  his  wisdom  go 


124  viviEx. 

For  ease  of  heart,  and  half  believed  her  true : 
Called  her  to  shelter  in  the  hollow  oak, 
"  Come  from  the  storm,"  and  having  no  reply. 
Gazed  at  the  heaving  shoulder,  and  the  face 
Hand-hidden,  as  for  utmost  grief  or  sham^  ; 
Then  thrice  essayed,  by  tenderest-touching  terms 
To  sleek  her  ruffled  peace  of  mind,  in  vain. 
At  last  she  let  herself  be  conquered  by  him. 
And  as  the  cageling  newly  flown  returns. 
The  seeming-injured  simple-hearted  thing 
Came  to  her  old  perch  back,  and  settled  there. 
There  while  she  sat,  half  falling  from  his  knees, 
Half  nestled  at  his  heart,  and  since  he  saw 
The  slow  tear  creep  from  her  closed  eyelid  yet, 
About  her,  more  in  kindness  than  in  love. 
The  gentle  wizard  cast  a  sliielding  arm. 
But  she  dislinked  herself  at  once  and  rose, 
Her  arms  upon  her  breast  across,  and  stood 
A  virtuous  gentlewoman  deeply  wronged, 
Upright  and  flushed  before  him :  then  she  said : 

"  There  must  be  now  no  passages  of  love 
Betwixt  us  twain  henceforward  evermore. 
Since,  if  I  be  what  I  am  grossly  called. 


VIVIEN.  125 

What  should  be  granted  which  your  own  gross  heart 

Would  reckon  worth  the  taking  ?     I  will  go. 

Li  truth,  but  one  thing  now  —  better  have  died 

Thrice  than  have  asked  it  once  —  could  make  me  stay  — 

That  proof  of  trust  —  so  often  asked  in  vain ! 

How  justly,  after  that  vile  term  of  yours, 

I  find  with  grief !     I  might  believe  you  then, 

Who  knows  ?  once  more.     O,  what  was  once  to  me 

Mere  matter  of  the  fancy,  now  has  grown 

The  vast  necessity  of  heart  and  life. 

Farewell :  think  kindly  of  me,  for  I  fear 

My  fate  or  fault,  omitting  gayer  youth 

For  one  so  old,  must  be  to  love  you  still. 

But  ere  I  leave  you  let  me  swear  once  more 

That  if  I  schemed  against  your  peace  in  this. 

May  yon  just  heaven,  that  darkens  o'er  me,  send 

One  flash,  that,  missing  all  things  else,  may  make 

My  scheming  brain  a  cinder,  if  I  lie." 

Scarce  had  she  ceased,  when  out  of  heaven  a  bolt 

(For  now  the  storm  was  close  above  them)  struck. 

Furrowing  a  giant  oak,  and  javelining 

With  darted  spikes  and  splinters  of  the  wood 

The  dark  earth  round.     He  raised  his  eyes  and  saw 
11  # 


126  VIVIEN. 

The  tree  that  shone  white-listed  through  the  gloom. 

But  Vivien,  fearing  Heaven  had  heard  her  oath, 

And  dazzled  by  the  livid-flickering  fork. 

And  deafened  with  the  stammering  cracks  and  claps 

That  followed,  flying  back  and  crying  out, 

"  O  Merlin,  though  you  do  not  love  me,  save. 

Yet  save  me  ! "  clung  to  him  and  hugged  him  close ; 

And  called  him  dear  protector  in  her  fright, 

Nor  yet  forgot  her  practice  in  her  fright, 

But  wrought  upon  his  mood  and  hugged  him  close. 

The  pale  blood  of  the  wizard  at  her  touch 

Took  gayer  colors,  like  an  opal  warmed. 

She  blamed  herself  for  telling  hearsay  tales : 

She  shook  from  fear,  and  for  her  fault  she  wept 

Of  petulancy  ;  she  called  him  lord  and  liege. 

Her  seer,  her  bard,  her  silver  star  of  eve, 

Her  God,  her  Merhn,  the  one  passionate  love 

Of  her  whole  life  ;  and  ever  overhead 

Bellowed  the  tempest,  and  the  rotten  branch 

Snapt  in  the  rushing  of  the  river-rain 

Above  them  ;  and  in  change  of  glare  and  gloom 

Her  eyes  and  neck  glittering  went  and  came ; 

Till  now  the  storm,  its  burst  of  passion  spent, 

Moaning  and  calling  out  of  other  lands, 


VIVIEN.  127 

Had  left  the  ravaged  woodland  yet  once  more 

To  peace  ;  and  what  should  not  have  been  had  been 

For  Merlin,  overtalked  and  overworn, 

Had  yielded,  told  her  all  the  charm,  and  slept. 

Then,  in  one  moment,  she  put  forth  the  charm 
Of  woven  paces  and  of  waving  hands, 
And  in  the  hollow  oak  he  lay  as  dead. 
And  lost  to  life  and  use  and  name  and  fame. 

Then  crying,  "  I  have  made  his  gloiy  mine," 
And  shrieking  out,  "  O  fool !  "  the  harlot  leapt 
Adown  the  forest,  and  the  thicket  closed 
Behind  her,  and  the  forest  echoed,  "  Fool ! " 


ELAINE. 


ELAINE. 


Elaine  the  fair,  Elaine  the  lovable, 

Elaine,  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat, 

High  in  her  chamber  up  a  tower  to  the  East 

Guarded  the  sacred  shield  of  Lancelot ; 

Which  first  she  placed  where  morning's  earliest  ray 

Might  strike  it,  and  awake  her  with  the  gleam  ; 

Then  fearing  rust  or  soilure  fashioned  for  it 

A  case  of  silk,  and  braided  thereupon 

All  the  devices  blazoned  on  the  shield 

In  their  own  tinct,  and  added,  of  her  wit, 

A  bordtr  fantasy  of  branch  and  flower, 

And  yellow-throated  nestling  in  the  nest. 

Nor  rested  thus  content,  but  day  by  day 

Leaving  her  household  and  good  father  climbed 

That  eastern  tower,  and  entering  barred  her  door, 

Stript  off  the  case,  and  read  the  naked  shield, 


132  ELAINE. 

Now  guessed  a  hidden  meaning  in  his  arms, 

Now  made  a  pretty  history  to  herself 

Of  every  dint  a  sword  had  beaten  in  it, 

And  every  scratch  a  lance  had  made  uj^on  it,^ 

Conjecturing  when  and  where  :  his  cut  is  fresh  ; 

That  ten  years  back  ;  this  dealt  him  at  Caerlyle ; 

That  at  Caerleon  ;  this  at  Camelot : 

And  ah  God's  mercy  what  a  stroke  was  there  ! 

And  here  a  thrust  that  might  have  killed,  but  God 

Broke  the  strong  lance,  and  rolled  his  enemy  dov.m, 

And  saved  him :  so  she  lived  in  fantasy. 

How  came  the  lily  maid  by  that  good  shield 
Of  Lancelot,  she  that  knew  not  ev'n  his  name  ? 
He  left  it  with  her,  when  he  rode  to  tilt 
For  the  great  diamond  in  the  diamond  jousts, 
Which  Arthur  had  ordained,  and  by  that  name 
Had  named  them,  since  a  diamond  was  the  prize. 

For  Arthur  when  none  knew  from  whence  he  came, 
Long  ere  the  people  chose  him  for  their  king, 
Roving  the  trackless  realms  of  Lyonness, 
Had  found  a  glen,  gray  boulder  and  black  tarn. 
A  horror  lived  about  the  tarn,  and  clave 


ELAINE.  133 

Like  its  own  mists  to  all  the  mountain  side : 

For  here  two  brothers,  one  a  king,  had  met 

And  fought  together ;  but  their  names  were  lost. 

And  each  had  slain  his  brother  at  a  blow, 

And  down  they  fell  and  made  the  glen  abhorred : 

And  there  thej  lay  till  all  their  bones  were  bleached, 

And  Hchened  into  color  with  the  crags : 

And  one  of  these,  the  king,  had  on  a  crown 

Of  diamonds,  one  in  front,  and  four  aside. 

And  Ai'thur  came,  and  laboring  up  the  pass 

All  in  a  misty  moonshine,  unawares 

Had  trodden  that  crowned  skeleton,  and  the  skull 

Brake  from  the  nape,  and  from  the  skull  the  crown 

Rolled  into  light,  and  turning  on  its  rims 

Fled  like  a  glittering  rivulet  to  the  tarn  : 

And  down  the  shingly  scaur  he  plunged  and  caught, 

And  set  it  on  his  head,  and  in  his  heart 

Heard  murmurs,  "  Lo,  thou  likewise  shalt  be  king." 

Thereafter,  when  a  king,  he  had  the  gems 
Plucked  from  the  crown,  and  showed  them  to  his  knights, 
Saying,  '''  These  jewels,  whereupon  I  chanced 
Divinely,  are  the  kingdom's,  not  the  king's  — 
For  public  use  :  henceforward  let  there  be, 
12 


134  ELAINE. 

Once  every  year,  a  joust  for  one  of  these : 
For  so  by  nine  years'  jDroof  we  needs  must  learn 
Which  is  our  mightiest,  and  ourselves  shall  grow- 
In  use  of  arms  and  manhood,  till  we  drive 
The  Heathen,  who,  some  say,  shall  rule  the  land 
Hereafter,  which  God  hinder."     Thus  he  sj^oke  : 
And  eight  years  past,  eight  jousts  had  been,  and  still 
Had  Lancelot  won  the  diamond  of  the  year, 
With  purpose  to  present  them  to  the  Queen, 
When  all  were  won  ;  but  meaning  all  at  once 
To  snare  her  royal  fancy  with  a  boon 
Worth  half  her  realm,  had  never  spoken  vrord. 

Kow  for  the  central  diamond  and  the  last 
And  largest,  Arthur,  holding  then  his  court 
Hard  on  the  river  nigh  the  place  which  now 
Is  this  world's  hugest,  let  proclaim  a  joust 
At  Camelot,  and  when  the  time  drew  nigh 
Spake  (for  she  had  been  sick)  to  Guinevere, 
"  Are  you  so  sick,  my  Queen,  you  cannot  move 
To  these  fair  jousts  ?  "      "  Yea,  lord,"  she  said,  '•  you 

know  it." 
"  Then  will  you  miss,"  he  answered,  "  the  great  deeds 
Of  Lancelot,  and  his  prowess  in  the  lists. 


ELAINE.  135 

A  sight  you  love  to  look  on."     And  the  Queen 
Lifted  her  eyes,  and  they  dwelt  languidly 
On  Lancelot,  where  he  stood  beside  the  king. 
He  thinking  that  he  read  her  meaning  there, 
"  Stay  with  me,  I  am  sick ;  my  love  is  more 
Than  many  diamonds,"  yielded,  and  a  heart, 
Love-loyal  to  the  least  wish  of  the  Queen, 
(However  much  he  yearned  to  make  complete 
The  tale  of  diamonds  for  his  destined  boon.) 
Urged  him  to  speak  against  the  truth,  and  say, 
"  Sir  King,  mine  ancient  wound  is  hardly  whole, 
And  lets  me  from  the  saddle  " ;  and  the  king 
Glanced  first  at  him,  then  her,  and  went  his  way. 
No  sooner  gone  than  suddenly  she  began. 

"  To  blame,  my  lord  Sir  Lancelot,  much  to  blame. 
Why  go  3^ou  not  to  these  fair  jousts  ?  the  knights 
Ai'e  half  of  them  our  enemies,  and  the  crowd 
Will  murmur,  Lo  the  shameless  ones,  who  take 
Their  j^astime  now  the  trustful  king  is  gone  !" 
Then  Lancelot  vext  at  having  lied  in  vain : 
"  Are  you  so  wise  ?  you  were  not  once  so  wise, 
My  Queen,  that  summer,  when  you  loved  me  first. 
Then  of  the  crowd  you  took  no  more  account 


136  ELAINE. 

Than  of  the  myriad  cricket  of  the  mead, 
When  its  own  voice  chngs  to  each  blade  of  grass, 
And  every  A^oice  is  nothing.     As  to  knights, 
Them  surely  can  I  silence  with  all  ease. 
But  now  my  loyal  Avorship  is  allowed 
Of  all  men  :  many  a  bard,  without  offence, 
Has  linked  our  names  together  in  his  lay, 
Lancelot,  the  flower  of  bravery,  Guinevere, 
The  pearl  of  beauty  :  and  our  knights  at  feast 
Have  pledged  us  in  this  union,  Avhile  the  king 
Would  listen  smihng.     How  then  ?  is  there  more  ? 
Has  Arthur  spoken  aught  ?  or  would  yourself, 
Now  weary  of  my  service  and  devoir, 
Henceforth  be  truer  to  your  faultless  lord  ?  " 

She  broke  into  a  little  scornful  laugh. 
"  Arthur,  my  lord,  Arthur,  the  faultless  king, 
That  passionate  perfection,  my  good  lord  — 
But  who  can  gaze  upon  the  Sun  in  heaven  ? 
He  never  spake  word  of  reproach  to  me. 
He  never  had  a  glimpse  of  mine  untruth, 
He  cares  not  for  me :  only  here  to-day 
There  gleamed  a  vague  suspicion  in  his  eyes : 
Some  meddling  rogue  has  tampered  with  him  —  else 


ELAINE. 

Rapt  in  this  fancy  of  his  Table  Round, 

And  swearing  men  to  vows  impossible, 

To  make  them  like  himself :  but,  friend,  to  me 

He  is  all  faultwho  hath  no  fault  at  all : 

For  who  loves  me  must  have  a  touch  of  earth ; 

The  low  sun  makes  the  color :  I  am  yours, 

Not  Arthur's,  as  you  know,  save  by  the  bond. 

And  therefore  hear  my  words  :  go  to  the  jousts  : 

The  tiny-trumpeting  gnat  can  break  our  dream 

When  sweetest ;  and  the  vermin  voices  here 

May  buzz  so  loud  —  we  scorn  them,  but  they  sting, 

Then  answered  Lancelot,  the  chief  of  knights. 
"And  with  what  face,  after  my  pretext  made. 
Shall  I  appear,  0  Queen,  at  Camelot,  I 
Before  a  king  who  honors  his  own  word, 
As  if  it  were  liis  God's  ?  " 

"  Yea,"  said  the  Queen, 
"  A  moral  child  without  the  craft  to  rule, 
Else  had  he  not  lost  me  :  but  listen  to  me. 
If  I  must  find  you  wit :  we  hear  it  said 
That  men  go  down  before  your  spear  at  a  touch 
But  knowing  you  are  Lancelot ;  your  great  name, 

12* 


137 


138  ELAIXE. 

This  conquers  :  hide  it  therefore  ;  go  unknown  : 

Win !  hy  tliis  kiss  you  will :  and  our  true  king 

Will  then  allow  your  pretext,  O  my  knight, 

As  all  for  glory  ;  for  to  speak  him  true, 

You  know  right  well,  how  meek  soe'er  he  seem, 

Ko  keener  hunter  after  glory  breathes. 

He  loves  it  in  his  knights  more  than  himself: 

They  prove  to  him  his  work  :  win  and  return." 

Then  got  Sir  Lancelot  suddenly  to  horse, 
Wroth  at  himself:  not  Avilling  to  be  knoAvn, 
He  left  the  barren-beaten  thoroughfare, 
Chose  the  green  path  that  showed  the  rarer  foot, 
And  there  among  the  solitary  downs. 
Full  often  lost  in  fancy,  lost  his  way, 
Till  as  he  traced  a  faintly-shadowed  track, 
That  all  in  loops  and  links  among  the  dales 
Ran  to  the  Castle  of  Astolat,  he  saw 
Fired  from,  the  west,  far  on  a  hill,  the  towers. 
Thither  he  made  and  wound  the  gateway  horn. 
Then  came  an  old  dumb,  myriad-wrinkled  man, 
Who  let  him  into  lodjrinnj  and  disarmed. 
And  Lancelot  marvelled  at  the  wordless  man : 
And  issuing;  found  the  Lord  of  Astolat 


ELAIXE.  139 

With  two  strong  sons,  Sir  Torre  and  Sir  Lavaine, 
Moving  to  meet  him  in  the  castle  court : 
And  close  behind  them  stept  the  lilj  maid 
Elaine,  his  daughter :  mother  of  the  house 
There  "was  not :  some  light  jest  among  them  rose 
With  laughter  dying  do\yn  as  the  great  knight 
Approached  them :  then  the  Lord  of  Astolat. 
'•  Whence  comest  thou,  my  guest,  and  by  what  name 
Livest  between  the  lips  ?  for  by  thy  state 
And  presence  I  might  guess  thee  chief  of  those, 
After  the  king,  Avho  eat  in  Arthur's  halls. 
Him  have  I  seen :  the  rest,  his  Table  Round, 
Known  as  they  are,  to  me  they  are  unknown." 

Then  answered  Lancelot,  the  chief  of  knights. 
'•'  Known  am  I,  and  of  Arthur's  hall,  and  known. 
What  I  by  mere  mischance  have  brought,  my  shield. 
But  since  I  go  to  joust  as  one  unknown 
At  Camelot  for  the  diamond,  ask  me  not, 
Hereafter  you  shall  know  me  —  and  the  shield  — 
I  pray  you  lend  me  one,  if  such  you  have. 
Blank,  or  at  least  with  some  device  not  mine." 


Then  said  the  Lord  of  Astolat,  "  Here  is  Torre's : 


140 


Hurt  in  his  first  tilt  was  my  son,  Sir  Torre. 
And  so,  God  wot,  his  shield  is  blank  enough. 
His  you  can  have."     Then  added  plain  Sir  Torre, 
"  Yea,  since  I  cannot  use  it,  you  may  have  it." 
Here  laughed  the  father,  saying,  "  Fie,  Sir  Churl, 
Is  that  an  answer  for  a  noble  knight  ? 
Allow  him  :  but  Lavaine,  my  younger  here. 
He  is  so  full  of  lustihood,  he  will  ride 
Joust  for  it,  and  win,  and  bring  it  in  an  hour 
And  set  it  in  this  damsel's  golden  hair, 
To  make  her  thrice  as  Avilful  as  before." 

"  Nay,  fiither,  nay,  good  father,  shame  me  not 
Before  this  noble  knight,"  said  young  Lavaine, 
"  For  nothing.     Surely  I  but  played  on  Torre : 
He  seemed  so  sullen,  vext  he  could  not  go  : 
A  jest,  no  more  :  for,  knight,  the  maiden  dreamt 
That  some  one  put  this  diamond  in  her  hand, 
And  that  it  was  too  slippery  to  be  held. 
And  slipt  and  fell  into  some  pool  or  stream, 
The  castle-well,  belike ;  and  then  I  said 
That  if  I  went  and  if  I  fought  and  won  it 
(But  all  was  jest  and  joke  among  ourselve>s) 
Then  must  she  keep  it  safelier.     All  was  jest. 


ELAINE.  141 

But  father  give  me  leave,  an  if  he  will, 
To  ride  to  Camelot  with  this  noble  knight : 
Win  shall  I  not,  but  do  my  best  to  win  : 
Young  as  I  am,  yet  would  I  do  my  best." 

"  So  you  will  grace  me,"  answered  Lancelot, 
Smiling  a  moment,  "  with  your  fellowship 
O'er  these  waste  downs  whereon  I  lost  myself, 
Then  were  I  glad  of  you  as  guide  and  friend ; 
And  you  shall  win  this  diamond,  —  as  I  hear 
It  is  a  fair  large  diamond,  —  if  you  may. 
And  yield  it  to  this  maiden,  if  you  will." 
"  A  fair  large  diamond,"  added  plain  Sir  Torre, 
"  Such  be  for  Queens  and  not  for  simple  maids." 
Then  she,  who  held  her  eyes  upon  the  ground, 
Elaine,  and  heard  her  name  so  tost  about, 
Flushed  shghtly  at  the  slight  disparagement 
Before  the  stranger  knight,  who,  looking  at  her, 
Full  courtly,  yet  not  falsely,  thus  returned. 
"  If  what  is  fair  be  but  for  what  is  fair. 
And  only  Queens  are  to  be  counted  so. 
Rash  were  my  judgment  then,  who  deem  this  maid 
Might  wear  as  fair  a  jewel  as  is  on  earth, 
Not  violating  the  bond  of  like  to  hke." 


142  ELAINE. 

He  spoke  and  ceased  :  the  lily  maid  Elaine, 
Won  by  the  mellow  Toice  before  she  looked, 
Lifted  her  eyes,  and  read  his  lineaments. 
The  great  and  guilty  love  he  bare  the  Queen, 
In  battle  with  the  love  be  bare  his  lord, 
Had  marred  his  face,  and  marked  it  ere  his  time. 
Another  sinning  at  such  height,  with  one, 
The  flower  of  all  the  West  and  all  the  world, 
Had  been  the  sleeker  for  it :  but  in  him 
His  mood  was  often  like  a  fiend,  and  rose 
And  drove  him  into  wastes  and  solitudes 
For  agony,  who  was  yet  a  living  soul. 
Marred  as  he  was,  he  seemed  the  goodliest  man, 
That  ever  among  ladies  ate  in  Hall, 
And  noblest,  when  she  lifted  up  her  eyes. 
However  marred,  of  more  than  twice  her  years. 
Seamed  with  an  ancient  sword-cut  on  the  cheek. 
And  bruised  and  bronzed,  she  lifted^  up  her  eyes 
And  loved  him,  with  that  love  which^  was  her  doom. 

Then  the  great  knight,  the  darling  of  the  court. 
Loved  of  the  loveliest,  into  that  rude  hall 
Stept  Avith  all  grace,  and  not  with  half  disdain 
Hid  under  grace,  as  m  a  smaller  time. 


ELAINE.  143 

But  kindly  man  moving  among  his  kind  : 

Whom  they  with  meats  and  vintage  of  their  best 

And  talk  and  minstrel  melody  entertained. 

And  much  they  asked  of  court  and  Table  Round, 

And  ever  well  and  readily  answered  he : 

But  Lancelot,  when  they  glanced  at  Guinevere, 

Suddenly  speaking  of  the  wordless  man. 

Heard  from  the  Baron  that,  ten  years  before, 

The  heathen  caught  and  reft  him  of  his  tongue. 

"  He  learnt  and  warned  me  of  their  fierce  design 

Against  my  house,  and  him  they  caught  and  maimed ; 

But  I,  my  sons  and  little  daughter  fled 

From  bonds  or  death,  and  dwelt  among  the  woods 

By  the  great  river  in  a  boatman's  hut. 

Dull  days  were  those,  till  our  good  Arthur  broke 

The  Pagan  yet  once  more  on  Badon  hill." 

"  O  there,  great  Lord,  doubtless,"  Lavaine  said,  rapt 
By  all  the  sweet  and  sudden  passion  of  youth 
Toward  greatness  in  its  elder,  "  you  have  fought. 
O  tell  us  ;  for  we  live  apart  —  you  know 
Of  Arthur's  glorious  wars."     And  Lancelot  spoke 
And  answered  him  at  full,  as  having  been 
With  Arthur  in  the  fight  which  all  day  long 


144  ELAINE. 

Eang  by  the  white  mouth  of  the  violent  Glem  ; 

And  in  the  four  wild  battles  by  the  shore 

Of  Duglas  ;  that  on  Bassa ;  then  the  war 

That  thundered  in  and  out  the  gloomy  skirts 

Of  Celidon  the  forest ;  and  again 

By  castle  Gurnion  where  the  glorious  king 

Had  on  his  cuirass  worn  our  Lady's  Head, 

Carved  of  one  emerald,  centered  in  a  sun 

Of  silver  rays,  that  lightened  as  he  breathed  ; 

And  at  Caerleon  had  he  helped  his  lord, 

"When  the  strong  neighings  of  the  wild  white  Plorse 

Set  every  gilded  parapet  shuddering  ; 

And  up  in  Agned  Cathregonion  too. 

And  down  the  waste  sand-shores  of  Trath  Treroit, 

Where  many  a  heathen  fell ;  "  and  on  the  mount 

Of  Badon  I  myself  beheld  the  king 

Charw  at  the  head  of  all  his  Table  Eound, 

And  all  his  legions  crying  Christ  and  him, 

And  break  them  ;  and  I  saw  him,  after,  stand 

High  on  a  heap  of  slain,  from  spur  to  plume 

Red  as  the  rising  sun  with  heathen  blood. 

And  seeing  me,  with  a  great  voice  he  cried, 

'  They  are  broken,  they  are  broken,'  for  the  king, 


ELAINE.  145 

For  triumph  in  our  mimic  Tvars,  the  jousts  — 
For  if  his  own  knight  cast  him  down,  he  laughs, 
Saying,  his  knights  are  better  men  than  he  — 
Yet  in  this  heathen  war  the  fire  of  God 
Fills  him :  I  never  saw  his  like  :  there  lives 
Ko  greater  leader." 

While  he  uttered  this, 
Low  to  her  own  heart  said  the  lilj  maid, 
"  Save  your  great  self,  fair  lord  " ;  and  when  he  fell 
From  talk  of  war  to  traits  of  pleasantry  — 
Being  mirthful  he,  but  in  a  stately  kind  — 
She  still  took  note  that  when  the  living  smile 
Died  from  his  lips,  across  him  came  a  cloud 
Of  melancholy  severe,  from  which  again, 
"Whenever  in  her  hovering  to  and  fro 
The  lily  maid  had  striven  to  make  him  cheer. 
There  brake  a  sudden-beaming  tenderness 
Of  manners  and  of  nature  :  and  she  thought 
That  all  was  nature,  all,  perchance,  for  her. 
And  all  night  long  his  face  before  her  lived. 
As  when  a  painter,  poring  on  a  face. 
Divinely  through  all  hindrance  finds  the  man 
Behind  it,  and  so  paints  him  that  his  face, 
13 


14G  ELAINE. 

The  shape  and  color  of  a  mind  and  life, 

Lives  for  his  children,  ever  at  its  best 

And  fullest ;  so  the  face  before  her  lived, 

Dark-splendid,  speaking  in  the  silence,  full 

Of  noble  things,  and  held  her  from  her  sleep. 

Till  rathe  she  rose,  half  cheated  in  the  thought 

She  needs  must  bid  farewell  to  sweet  Lavaine. 

First  as  in  fear,  step  after  step,  she  stole 

Down  the  long  tower-stairs,  hesitating : 

Anon,  she  heard  Sir  Lancelot  cry  in  the  court, 

"  This  shield,  my  friend,  where  is  it  ?  "  and  Lavaine 

Past  inward,  as  she  came  from  out  the  tower. 

There  to  his  proud  horse  Lancelot  turned,  and  smoothed 

The  glossy  shoulder,  humming  to  himself. 

Half  envious  of  the  flattering  hand,  she  drew 

Nearer  and  stood.     He  looked,  and  more  amazed 

Than  if  seven  men  had  set  upon  him,  saw 

The  maiden  standing  in  the  dewy  light. 

He  had  not  dreamed  she  was  so  beautiful. 

Then  came  on  him  a  sort  of  sacred  fear. 

For  silent,  though  he  greeted  her,  she  stood 

Rapt  on  his  face  as  if  it  were  a  God's. 

Suddenly  flashed  on  her  a  wild  desire, 

That  he  should  wear  her  favor  at  the  tilt. 


ELAINE.  147 

She  braved  a  riotous  heart  in  asking  for  it. 

"  Fair  lord,  whose  name  I  know  not,  —  noble  it  is, 

I  well  believe,  the  noblest,  —  will  you  wear 

My  favor  at  this  tourney  ?  "     "  Nay,"  said  he, 

"  Fair  lady,  since  I  never  yet  have  worn 

Favor  of  any  lady  in  the  lists. 

Such  is  my  wont,  as  those,  who  know  me,  know." 

'•  Yea,  so,"  she  answered ;  "  then  in  wearing  mine 

Needs  must  be  lesser  likelihood,  noble  lord. 

That  those  who  know  should  know  you."    And  he  turned 

Her  counsel  up  and  down  within  his  mind. 

And  found  it  true,  and  answered,  "  True,  my  child. 

Well,  I  will  wear  it :  fetch  it  out  to  me  : 

What  is  it  ?  "  and  she  told  him,  '-A  red  sleeve 

Broidered  with  pearls,"  and  brouglit  it :  then  he  bound 

Her  token  on  his  helmet,  with  a  smile. 

Saying,  "  I  never  yet  have  done  so  much 

For  any  maiden  living,"  and  the  blood 

Sprang  to  her  face  and  filled  her  with  delight ; 

But  left  her  all  the  paler,  when  Lavaine 

Returning  brought  the  yet-unblazoned  shield, 

His  brother's  ;  which  he  gave  to  Lancelot, 

Who  parted  with  his  own  to  fair  Elaine  ; 

"  Do  me  this  grace,  my  child,  to  have  my  shield 


148  ELAINE. 

In  keeping  till  I  come."     "A  grace  to  me," 

She  answered, ''  twice  to-day.     I  am  your  Squire." 

"Whereat  Lavaine  said  laughing,  "  Lily  maid, 

For  fear  our  people  call  you  lily  maid 

In  earnest,  let  me  brmg  your  color  back ; 

Once,  tAvice,  and  thrice  :  now  get  you  hence  to  bed  " : 

So  kissed  her,  and  Sir  Lancelot  his  own  hand, 

And  thus  they  moved  away :  she  stayed  a  minute, 

Then  made  a  sudden  step  to  the  gate,  and  there  — 

Her  bright  hair  blown  about  the  serious  face 

Yet  rosy-kindled  with  her  brother's  kiss  — 

Paused  in  the  gateway,  standing  by  the  shield 

In  silence,  while  she  watched  their  arms  far-oiF 

Sparkle,  until  they  dipt  below  the  downs. 

Then  to  her  tower  she  climbed,  and  took  the  shield, 
There  kept  it,  and  so  lived  in  fantasy. 

Meanwhile  the  new  companions  past  away 
Far  o'er  the  long  backs  of  the  bushless  doAvns, 
To  where  Sir  Lancelot  knew  there  lived  a  knight 
Not  far  from  Camelot,  now  for  forty  years 
A  hermit,  who  had  prayed,  labored  and  prayed, 
And  ever  laboring  had  scooped  himself 


ELAINE.  149 

In  the  white  rock  a  chapel  and  a  hall 
On  massive  columns,  like  a  shoreclifF  cave, 
And  cells  and  chambers  :  all  were  fair  and  dry  ; 
The  green  light  from  the  meadows  underneath 
Struck  up  and  hved  along  the  milky  roofs ; 
And  in  the  meadows  tremulous  aspen-trees 
And  poplars  made  a  noise  of  falhng  showers. 
And  thither  wending  there  that  night  they  bode. 

But  when  the  next  day  broke  from  underground. 
And  shot  red  fire  and  shadows  through  the  cave, 
They  rose,  heard  mass,  broke  fast,  and  rode  away : 
Then  Lancelot  saying, ''  Hear,  but  hold  my  name 
Hidden,  you  ride  with  Lancelot  of  the  lake," 
Abashed  Lavaine,  whose  instant  reverence, 
Dearer  to  true  young  hearts  than  their  own  praise, 
But  left  him  leave  to  stammer,  "  Is  it  indeed  ?  " 
And  after  muttering  "  the  great  Lancelot," 
At  last  he  got  his  breath  and  answered,  "  One, 
One  have  I  seen  —  that  other,  our  liege  lord. 
The  dread  Pendragon,  Britain's  king  of  kings, 
Of  whom  the  people  talk  mysteriously. 
He  Avill  be  there  —  then  were  I  stricken  blind 
That  minute,  I  might  say  that  I  had  seen." 
13* 


150  ELAINE. 

So  spake  Lavainc,  and  Avlien  they  reached  the  lists 
By  Camelot  in  the  meadow,  let  his  eyes 
Run  through  the  peopled  gallery  Avhich  half  round 
Lay  like  a  rainbow  fall'n  upon  the  grass, 
Until  they  found  the  clear-faced  king,  who  sat 
Robed  in  red  samite,  easily  to  be  known. 
Since  to  his  crown  the  golden  dragon  clung, 
And  down  his  robe  the  dragon  writhed  in  gold, 
And  from  the  carven-work  behind  him  crept 
Two  dragons  gilded,  sloping  down  to  make 
Arms  for  his  chair,  while  all  the  rest  of  them 
Through  knots  and  loops  and  folds  innumerable 
Fled  ever  through  the  woodwork,  till  they  found 
The  new  design  wherein  they  lost  themselves, 
Yet  with  all  ease,  so  tender  was  the  work : 
And,  in  the  costly  canopy  o'er  him  set. 
Blazed  the  last  diamond  of  the  nameless  king. 
Then  Lancelot  answered  young  Lavaine  and  said, 
'•'  Me  you  call  great :  mine  is  the  firmer  seat, 
The  truer  lance  :  but  there  is  many  a  youth 
Now  crescent,  Avho  will  come  to  all  I  am 
And  overcome  it ;  and  in  me  there  dwells 
No  greatness,  save  it  be  some  far-off  touch 
Of  greatness  to  know  well  I  am  not  great : 


ELAINE.  151 

There  is  the  man."     And  Lavaine  gaped  upon  him 

As  on  a  thing  miraculous,  and  anon 

The  trumpets  blew ;  and  then  did  either  side, 

They  that  assailed,  and  they  that  held  the  lists, 

Set  lance  in  rest,  strike  spur,  suddenly  move. 

Meet  in  the  midst,  and  there  so  furiously 

Shock,  that  a  man  far-off  might  well  perceive. 

If  any  man  that  day  were  left  afield. 

The  hard  earth  shake,  and  a  low  thunder  of  arms. 

And  Lancelot  bode  a  little,  till  he  saw 

Which  were  the  weaker ;  then  he  hurled  into  it 

Against  the  stronger  :  little  need  to  speak 

Of  Lancelot  in  his  glory :  king,  duke,  earl. 

Count,  baron  —  whom  he  smote,  he  overthrew. 

But  in  the  field  were  Lancelot's  kith  and  kin. 
Ranged  with  the  Table  Round  that  held  the  lists, 
Strong  men,  and  wrathful  that  a  stranger  knight 
Should  do  and  almost  overdo  the  deeds 
Of  Lancelot ;  and  one  said  to  the  other,  "  Lo ! 
What  is  he  ?     I  do  not  mean  the  force  alone. 
The  grace  and  versatility  of  the  man  — 
Is  it  not  Lancelot  ?  "     "  When  has  Lancelot  worn 
Favor  of  any  lady  in  the  lists  ? 


152  ELAINE. 

Not  such  his  wont,  as  we,  that  know  him,  know." 

"  How  then  ?  who  then  ?  "  a  fuiy  seized  on  them, 

A  fiery  family  passion  for  the  name 

Of  Lancelot,  and  a  glory  one  with  theirs. 

They  couched  their  spears  and  pricked  their  steeds  and 

thus, 
Their  plumes  driv'n  backward  by  the  wind  they  made 
In  moving,  all  together  down  upon  him 
Bare,  as  a  wild  wave  in  the  wide  North-Sea, 
Green-glimmering  toward  the  summit,  bears,  with  all 
Its  stormy  crests  that  smoke  against  the  skies, 
Down  on  a  bark,  and  overbears  the  bai'k, 
And  him  that  helms  it,  as  they  overbore 
Sir  Lancelot  and  his  charger,  and  a  spear 
Down-glancing  lamed  the  charger,  and  a  spear 
Prickt  sharply  his  own  cuirass,  and  the  head 
Pierced  through  his  side,  and  there  snapt,  and  remained. 

Then  Sir  Lavaine  did  well  and  worshipfully ; 
He  bore  a  knight  of  old  repute  to  the  earth, 
And  brought  his  horse  to  Lancelot  where  he  lay. 
He  up  the  side,  sweating  with  agony,  got, 
But  thought  to  do  while  he  might  yet  endure. 
And  being  lustily  holpen  by  the  rest. 


ELAINE.  153 

His  party  —  tliongli  it  seemed  half  miracle 
To  those  he  fought  with  —  drave  his  kith  and  kin, 
And  all  the  Table  Round  that  held  the  lists, 
Back  to  the  barrier  ;  then  the  heralds  blew 
Proclaiming  his  the  prize,  who  wore  the  sleeve 
Of  scarlet,  and  the  pearls ;  and  all  the  knights, 
His  party,  cried,  "  Advance,  and  take  your  prize, 
The  diamond  " ;  but  he  answered,  '''  Diamond  me 
No  diamonds  !  for  God's  love,  a  little  air  ! 
Prize  me  no  prizes,  for  my  prize  is  death ! 
Hence  will  I,  and  I  charge  you,  follow  me  not." 

He  spoke,  and  vanished  suddenly  from  the  field 
"With  young  Lavaine  into  the  poplar  grove. 
There  from  his  charger  down  he  slid,  and  sat, 
Gasping  to  Sir  Lavaine,  '•  Draw  the  lance-head  " : 
"Ah  my  sweet  lord  Sir  Lancelot,"  said  Lavaine, 
"  I  dread  me,  if  I  drav/  it,  you  will  die." 
Put  he,  "  I  die  already  with  it :  draw  — 
Draw  "  —  and  Lavaine  drew,  and  that  other  gave 
A  marvellous  great  shriek  and  ghastly  groan. 
And  half  his  blood  burst  forth,  and  down  he  sank 
For  the  pure  pain,  and  wholly  swooned  away. 
Then  came  the  hermit  out  and  bare  him  in. 


154  ELAINE. 

There  stanched  his  wound  ;  and  there,  in  daily  doubt 
"Whether  to  live  or  die,  foi'  many  a  week 
Hid  from  the  wide  world's  rumor  by  the  grove 
Of  poplars  with  their  noise  of  faUing  showers, 
And  ever-tremulous  aspen-trees,  he  lay. 

But  on  that  day  when  Lancelot  fled  the  lists, 
His  party,  knights  of  utmost  North  and  "West, 
Lords  of  waste  marches,  kings  of  desolate  isles, 
Came  round  their  great  Pendragon,  saying  to  him, 
*'  Lo,  Sire,  our  knight  through  whom  we  won  the  day 
Hath  gone  sore  wounded,  and  hath  left  his  prize 
Untaken,  cr^dng  that  his  prize  is  death.'* 
"  Heaven  hinder,"  said  the  king,  "  that  such  an  one, 
So  great  a  knight  as  we  have  seen  to-day — 
He  seemed  to  me  another  Lancelot  — 
Yea,  twenty  times  I  thought  him  Lancelot  — 
He  must  not  pass  uncared  for.     Gawain,  rise, 
My  nephew,  and  ride  forth  and  find  the  knight. 
"Wounded  and  weai'ied  needs  must  he  be  near. 
I  charge  you  that  you  get  at  once  to  horse. 
And,  knights  and  kings,  there  breathes  not  one  of  you 
Will  deem  this  prize  of  ours  is  rashly  given : 
His  prowess  was  too  wondrous.     We  will  do  him 


ELAINE.  155 

Xo  customary  honor :  since  the  knight 
Came  not  to  us,  of  us  to  claim  the  prize, 
Ourselves  will  send  it  after.     Wherefore  take 
This  diamond,  and  deUver  it,  and  return. 
And  bring  us  "vvhat  he  is  and  how  he  fares, 
And  cease  not  from  your  quest  until  you  find." 

So  saying,  from  the  carven  flower  above, 
To  which  it  made  a  restless  heart,  he  took. 
And  gave,  the  diamond :  then  from  where  he  sat 
At  Arthur's  right,  with  smiling  face  arose, 
With  smiling  face  and  frowning  heart,  a  Prince 
In  the  mid  might  and  flourish  of  his  May, 
Gawain,  surnamed  The  Courteous,  fair  and  strong. 
And  after  Lancelot,  Tristram,  and  Geraint 
And  Lamorack,  a  good  knight,  but  therewithal 
Sir  Modred's  brother,  of  a  crafty  house, 
Xor  often  loyal  to  his  word,  and  now 
Wroth  that  the  king's  command  to  sally  forth 
In  quest  of  whom  he  knew  not,  made  him  leave 
The  banquet,  and  concourse  of  knights  and  kings. 

So  all  in  wrath  he  got  to  horse  and  went ; 
While  Arthur  to  the  banquet,  dark  in  mood, 


156  KLAINE. 

Past,  tliinking,  '•  Is  it  Lancelot  who  has  come 

Despite  the  -wound  he  spake  of,  all  for  gain 

Of  glory,  and  has  added  wound  to  wound. 

And  ridd'n  away  to  die  ?  "     So  feared  the  king. 

And,  after  two  days'  tarriance  there,  returned. 

Then  when  he  saw  the  Queen,  embracing  asked, 

"  Love,  are  you  yet  so  sick  ?  "     "  iS'ay,  lord,"  she  said. 

*•'  And  where  is  Lancelot  ?  "  then  the  Queen  amazed, 

"  Was  he  not  Avith  you  ?  won  he  not  your  prize  ?  " 

"  Nay,  but  one  like  him."     "  Why,  that  like  was  he." 

And  when  the  king  demanded  how  she  knew. 

Said,  "  Lord,  no  sooner  had  you  j^arted  from  us, 

Than  Lancelot  told  me  of  a  common  talk 

That  men  went  down  before  his  spear  at  a  touch. 

But  knowing  he  was  Lancelot ;  his  great  name 

Conquered ;  and  therefore  would  he  hide  his  name 

From  all  men,  ev'n  the  king,  and  to  this  end 

Had  made  the  pretext  of  a  hindering  wound. 

That  he  might  joust  unknown  of  all,  and  learn 

If  his  old  prowess  were  in  aught  decayed : 

And  added,  '  Our  true  Arthur,  when  he  learns, 

Will  well  allow  my  pretext,  as  for  gain 

Of  purer  glory.' " 


ELAINE.  157 

Then  replied  the  king : 
"  Far  lovelier  in  our  Lancelot  had  it  been, 
In  lieu  of  idly  dallying  with  the  truth, 
To  have  trusted  me  as  he  has  trusted  you. 
Surely  liis  king  and  most  familiar  friend 
Might  well  have  kept  his  secret.     True,  indeed, 
Albeit  I  know  my  knights  fantastical. 
So  fine  a  fear  m  our  large  Lancelot 
Must  needs  have  moved  my  laughter  :  now  remains 
But  little  cause  for  laughter :  his  own  kin  — 
111  news,  my  Queen,  for  all  who  love  him,  these ! 
His  kith  and  kin,  not  knowing,  set  upon  him ; 
So  that  he  went  sore  wounded  from  the  field ; 
Yet  good  news  too :  for  goodly  hopes  are  mine 
That  Lancelot  is  no  more  a  lonely  heart. 
He  wore,  against  his  wont,  upon  his  helm 
A  sleeve  of  scarlet,  broidered  with  great  pearls, 
Some  gentle  maiden's  gift." 

''  Yea,  lord,"  she  said, 
"  Your  hopes  are  mine,"  and  saying  that  she  choked. 
And  sharply  turned  about  to  hide  her  face. 
Moved  to  her  chamber,  and  there  flung  herself 
Down  on  the  great  king's  couch,  and  writhed  upon  it, 
U 


158  ELAINE. 

And  clenched  her  fingers  till  they  bit  the  palm, 
And  shrieked  out  "traitor"  to  the  unhearing  wall, 
Then  flashed  into  wild  tears,  and  rose  again. 
And  moved  about  her  palace,  proud  and  pale. 

Gawain  the  while  through  all  the  region  round 
Rode  with  his  diamond,  wearied  of  the  quest, 
Touched  at  all  points,  except  the  poplar  grove. 
And  came  at  last,  though  late,  to  Astolat : 
"Whom  glittering  in  enamelled  arms  the  maid 
Glanced  at,  and  cried,  "  What  news  from  Camelot,  lord  ? 
What  of  the  knight  with  the  red  sleeve  ?  "     "  He  won." 
"I  knew  it,"  she  said.     "'  But  parted  from  the  jousts 
Hurt  in  the  side,"  whereat  she  caught  her  breath ; 
Through  her  own  side  she  felt  the  sharp  lance  go ; 
Thereon  she  smote  her  hand :  well-nigh  she  swooned : 
And,  while  he  gazed  wonderingly  at  her,  came 
The  lord  of  Astolat  out,  to  whom  the  Prmce 
Reported  who  he  was,  and  on  what  quest 
Sent,  that  he  bore  the  prize  and  could  not  find 
The  victor,  but  had  ridden  wildly  round 
To  seek  liim,  and  was  wearied  of  the  search. 
To  whom  the  Lord  of  Astolat,  "  Bide  with  us 
And  ride  no  longer  wildly,  noble  Prince ! 


ELAINE.  159 

Here  was  the  knight,  and  here  he  left  a  shield ; 

This  will  he  send  or  come  for :  furthermore 

Our  son  is  with  him ;  we  shall  hear  anon, 

Needs  must  we  hear."     To  this  the  courteous  Prince 

Accorded  with  his  wonted  courtesy, 

Courtesy  with  a  touch  of  traitor  in  it, 

And  stayed ;  and  cast  his  eyes  on  fair  Elaine  — 

Where  could  be  found  face  daintier  ?  then  her  shape 

From  forehead  down  to  foot  perfect  —  again 

From  foot  to  forehead  exquisitely  turned : 

«  Well  —  if  I  bide,  lo !  this  wild  flower  for  me ! " 

And  oft  they  met  among  the  garden  yews, 

And  there  he  set  himself  to  play  upon  her, 

With  sallying  wit,  free  flashes  from  a  height 

Above  her,  graces  of  the  court,  and  songs. 

Sighs,  and  slow  smiles,  and  golden  eloquence 

And  amorous  adulation,  till  the  maid 

Rebelled  against  it,  saying  to  him,  "  Prince, 

O  loyal  nephew  of  our  noble  king. 

Why  ask  you  not  to  see  the  shield  he  left. 

Whence  you  might  learn  his  name  ?     Why  slight  your 

king. 
And  lose  the  quest  he  sent  you  on,  and  prove 
No  surer  than  our  falcon  yesterday. 


IGO  ELAINE. 

Who  lost  tlie  hern  we  slipt  him  at,  and  Avent 

To  all  the  winds  ?  "     "  Nay,  by  mine  head,"  said  he, 

"  I  lose  it,  as  Ave  lose  the  lark  in  heaven, 

0  damsel,  in  the  light  of  your  blue  eyes  : 
But  an  you  will  it  let  me  see  the  shield." 

And  Avhen  the  shield  was  brought,  and  Gawain  saw 
Sir  Lancelot's  azure  lions,  crowned  with  gold, 
Ramp  in  the  field,  he  smote  his  thigh,  and  mocked : 
"  Right  Avas  the  King  !  our  Lancelot !  that  true  man ! " 
"  And  right  AA'as  I,"  she  ansAA^ered  merrily,  "  I, 
Who  dreamed  my  knight  the  greatest  knight  of  all." 
"  And  if  /  dreamed,"  said  GaAvain,  " that  you  Ioac 
This  greatest  knight,  your  pardon !  lo,  you  knoAV  it ! 
Speak  therefore :  shall  I  Avaste  myself  in  vain  ?  " 
Full  simple  was  her  answer,  "  What  knoAv  I  ? 
My  brethren  have  been  all  my  fellowship, 
And  I,  Avhen  often  they  have  talked  of  love. 
Wished  it  had  been  my  mother,  for  they  talked, 
Meseemed,  of  what  they  kncAV  not ;  so  myself — 

1  know  not  if  I  knoAV  Avhat  true  love  is. 
But  if  I  knoAv,  then,  if  I  love  not  him, 
Methinks  there  is  none  other  I  can  love." 

"  Yea,  by  God's  death,"  said  he,  "  you  love  him  Avell, 
But  Avould  not,  kncAv  you  Avliat  all  others  knoAv, 


ELAINE.  161 

Aiicl  whom  be  loves."     "  So  be  it,"  cried  Elaine, 
And  lifted  her  fair  face  and  moved  away : 
But  be  pursued  ber,  calUng,  "  Bide  awbile ! 
One  golden  minute's  grace  :  be  wore  your  sleeve  : 
AVould  be  break  faith  with  one  I  may  not  name  ? 
Must  our  true  man  change  like  a  leaf  at  last  ? 
May  it  be  so  ?  why  then,  far  be  it  from  me 
To  cross  our  mighty  Lancelot  in  his  loves  ! 
And,  damsel,  for  I  deem  you  know  full  well 
"Where  your  great  knight  is  bidden,  let  me  leave 
My  quest  with  you  ;  the  diamond  also  :  here  ! 
For  if  you  love,  it  will  be  sweet  to  give  it ; 
And  if  he  love,  it  will  be  sweet  to  have  it 
From  your  own  hand ;  and  whether  he  love  or  not, 
A  diamond  is  a  diamond.     Fare  you  well 
A  thousand  times  !  —  a,  thousand  times  farewell ! 
Yet,  if  he  love,  and  his  love  bold,  we  two 
May  meet  at  court  hereafter  :  there,  I  think, 
So  you  will  learn  the  courtesies  of  the  court, 
We  two  shall  know  each  other." 

Then  he  gave. 
And  slightly  kissed  the  hand  to  which  he  gave. 
The  diamond,  and  all  wearied  of  the  quest 


162  ELAINE. 

Leapt  on  liis  lior.-c,  and  carolling  as  he  "went 
A  true-lo\c  ballad,  liglitly  rode  aAvay. 

Thence  to  the  court  he  past ;  there  told  the  king, 
What  the  king  knew,  "  Sir  Lancelot  is  the  knight." 
And  added,  "  Sire,  mj  liege,  so  much  I  learnt ; 
But  foiled  to  find  him  though  I  rode  all  round 
The  region  :  but  I  lighted  on  the  maid, 
Whose  sleeve  he  wore ;  she  loves  him :  to  this  maid 
Deeming  our  courtesy  is  the  truest  law 
I  gave  the  diamond  :  she  will  render  it ; 
For  by  mine  head  she  knows  his  hiding-place." 

The  seldom-frowning  king  frowned,  and  replied, 
"  Too  courteous  truly  !  you  shall  go  no  more 
On  quest  of  mine,  seeing  that  you  forget 
Obedience  is  the  courtesy  due  to  kings." 

I 

He  spake  and  parted.     "Wrolli  but  all  in  awe. 
For  twenty  strokes  of  the  blood,  without  a  word. 
Lingered  that  other,  staring  after  him ; 
Then  shook  his  hair,  strode  off,  and  buzzed  abroad 
About  the  maid  of  Astolat,  and  her  love. 
All  ears  were  pricked  at  once,  all  tongues  were  loosed 


ELAINE.  163 

"  The  maid  of  Astolat  loves  Sir  Lancelot, 

Sir  Lancelot  loves  the  maid  of  Astolat." 

Some  read  the  King's  face,  some  the  Queen's,  and  all 

Had  marvel  what  the  maid  might  be,  but  most 

Predoomed  her  as  unworthy.     One  old  dame 

Came  suddenly  on  the  Queen  with  the  sharp  news. 

She,  that  had  heard  the  noise  of  it  before, 

But  sorrowing  Lancelot  should  have  stooped  so  low, 

Marred  her  friend's  point  with  pale  tranquillity. 

So  ran  the  tale  like  fire  about  the  court. 

Fire  m  dry  stubble  a  nine  days'  wonder  flared : 

Till  ev'n  the  knights  at  banquet  twice  or  thrice 

Forgot  to  di'ink  to  Lancelot  and  the  Queen, 

And  pledging  Lancelot  and  the  lily  maid 

Smiled  at  each  other,  while  the  Queen  who  sat 

With  lips  severely  placid  felt  the  knot 

Climb  in  her  throat,  and  with  her  feet  unseen 

Crushed  the  wild  passion  out  against  the  floor 

Beneath  the  banquet,  where  the  meats  became 

As  Avormwood,  and  she  hated  all  Avho  pledged. 

But  far  away  the  maid  in  Astolat, 
Her  guiltless  rival,  she  that  ever  kept 
The  one-day -seen  Sir  Lancelot  in  her  heart. 


164  ELAINE. 

Crept  to  licr  father,  while  he  mused  alone, 

Sat  on  his  knee,  stroked  his  gray  face  and  said, 

"  Father,  you  call  me  wilful,  and  the  fault 

Is  yours,  who  let  me  have  my  will,  and  now, 

Sweet  father,  will  you  let  me  lose  my  wits  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  "  surely."     "  Wherefore  let  me  hence,' 

She  answered,  "  and  find  out  our  dear  Lavaine." 

"  You  will  not  lose  your  wits  for  dear  Lavaine : 

Bide,"  answered  he :  "  we  needs  must  hear  anon 

Of  him,  and  of  that  other."     "  Ay,"  she  said, 

"  And  of  that  other,  for  I  needs  must  hence 

And  find  that  other,  wheresoe'er  he  be, 

And  with  mine  own  hand  give  his  diamond  to  him, 

Lest  I  be  found  as  faithless  in  the  quest 

As  yon  proud  prince  who  left  the  quest  to  me. 

Sweet  father,  I  behold  him  in  my  dreams 

Gaunt  as  it  were  the  skeleton  of  himself. 

Death-pale,  for  lack  of  gentle  maiden's  aid. 

The  gentler-born  the  maiden,  the  more  bound, 

My  father,  to  be  sweet  and  serviceable 

To  noble  knights  in  sickness,  as  you  know. 

When  these  have  worn  their  tokens :  let  me  hence 

I  pray  you."     Then  her  father  nodding  said, 

"  Ay,  ay,  the  diamond :  wit  you  well,  my  child, 


ELAINE.  165 

Right  fain  were  I  to  learn  this  knight  were  whole, 
Being  our  greatest :  yea,  and  you  must  give  it  — 
And  sure  I  think  this  fruit  is  hung  too  high 
For  any  mouth  to  gape  for  save  a  Queen's  — 
Nay,  I  mean  nothing :  so  then,  get  you  gone, 
Being  so  very  wilful  you  must  go." 

Lightly,  her  suit  allowed,  she  slipt  away. 
And  while  she  made  her  ready  for  her  ride, 
Her  father's  latest  word  hummed  in  her  ear, 
"  Being  so  very  wilful  you  must  go," 
And  changed  itself  and  echoed  in  her  heart, 
"  Being  so  very  wilful  you  must  die." 
But  she  was  happy  enough  and  shook  it  off. 
As  we  shake  oflf  the  bee  that  buzzes  at  us ; 
And  in  her  heart  she  answered  it  and  said, 
"  What  matter,  so  I  help  him  back  to  hfe  ?  '* 
Then  far  away  with  good  Sir  Torre  for  guide 
Rode  o'er  the  long  backs  of  the  bushless  downs 
To  Camelot,  and  before  the  city-gates 
Came  on  her  brother  with  a  happy  face 
Making  a  roan  horse  caper  and  curvet 
For  pleasure  all  about  a  field  of  flowers  : 
Whom  when  she  saw,  "  Lavaine,"  she  cried,  "  Lavaine, 


166  ELAINE. 

How  fares  my  lord  Sir  Lancelot  ?  "     He  amazed, 

"  Torre  and  Elaine  !  why  here  ?  Sir  Lancelot ! 

How  know  YOU  my  lord's  name  is  Lancelot  ?  " 

But  when  the  maid  had  told  him  all  her  tale, 

Then  turned  Sir  Torre,  and  being  in  his  moods 

Left  them,  and  under  the  strange-statued  gate, 

Where  Arthur's  wars  were  rendered  mystically. 

Past  up  the  still  rich  city  to  his  kin. 

His  own  far  blood,  which  dwelt  at  Camelot ; 

And  her  Lavaine  across  the  poplar  grove 

Led  to  the  caves  :  there  first  she  saw  the  casque 

Of  Lancelot  on  the  wall :  her  scarlet  sleeve. 

Though  carved  and  cut,  and  half  the  pearls  away. 

Streamed  from  it  still ;  and  in  her  heart  she  laughed. 

Because  he  had  not  loosed  it  from  his  helm. 

But  meant  once  more  perchance  to  tourney  in  it. 

And  when  they  gained  the  cell  in  which  he  slept. 

His  battle-writben  arms  and  mighty  hands 

Lay  naked  on  the  wolf-skin,  and  a  dream 

Of  dragging  down  his  enemy  made  them  move. 

Then  she  that  saw  him  lying  unsleek,  unshorn, 

Gaunt  as  it  were  the  skeleton  of  himself. 

Uttered  a  little  tender  dolorous  cry. 

The  sound  not  wonted  in  a  place  so  still 


o5 


ELAINE.  167 

Woke  the  sick  knight,  and  while  he  rolled  Ms  eyes 

Yet  blank  from  sleep,  she  started  to  him,  sayin 

"  Yom'  prize,  the  diamond  sent  you  by  the  king 

His  eyes  glistened :  she  fancied,  ''  Is  it  for  me  ?  " 

And  when  the  maid  had  told  him  all  the  tale 

Of  king  and  prince,  the  diamond  sent,  the  quest 

Assigned  to  her  not  worthy  of  it,  she  knelt 

Full  lowly  by  the  corners  of  his  bed, 

And  laid  the  diamond  in  his  open  hand. 

Her  face  was  near,  and  as  we  kiss  the  child 

That  does  the  task  assigned,  he  kissed  her  face. 

At  once  she  slipt  like  water  to  the  floor. 

'•  Alas,"  he  said,  "  your  ride  has  wearied  you. 

Rest  must  you  have."     "  No  rest  for  me,"  she  said  ; 

"  Nay,  for  near  you,  fair  lord,  I  am  at  rest." 

What  might  she  mean  by  that  ?  his  large  black  eyes, 

Yet  larger  through  his  leanness,  dwelt  upon  her, 

Till  all  her  heart's  sad  secret  blazed  itself 

In  the  heart's  colors  on  her  simple  face ; 

And  Lancelot  looked  and  was  perplext  in  mind, 

And  being  weak  in  body  said  no  more  ; 

But  did  hot  love  the  color  ;  woman's  love, 

Save  one,  he  not  regarded,  and  so  turned 

Sighing,  and  feigned  a  sleep  until  he  slept. 


168  KLAINE. 

Then  rose  Elaine  and  glided  through  the  fields, 
And  past  beneath  the  wildly-sculptured  gates 
Far  up  the  dim  rich  city  to  her  kin ; 
There  bode  the  night :  but  woke  with  dawn,  and  past 
Down  through  the  dim  rich  city  to  the  fields, 
Thence  to  the  cave :  so  day  by  day  she  past 
In  either  twilight  ghost-like  to  and  fro 
Gliding,  and  every  day  she  tended  him, 
And  likewise  many  a  night :  and  Lancelot 
"Would,  though  he  called  his  wound  a  little  hurt 
Whereof  he  should  be  quickly  whole,  at  times 
Brain-feverous  in  his  heat  and  agony,  seem 
Uncourteous,  even  he  :  but  the  meek  maid 
Sweetly  forbore  him  ever,  being  to  him 
Meeker  than  any  child  to  a  rough  nurse. 
Milder  than  any  mother  to  a  sick  child. 
And  never  woman  yet,  since  man's  first  fall, 
Did  kindlier  unto  man,  but  her  deep  love 
Upbore  her ;  till  the  hermit,  skilled  in  all 
The  simples  and  the  science  of  that  time. 
Told  him  that  her  fine  care  had  saved  his  life. 
And  the  sick  man  forgot  her  simple  blush. 
Would  call  her  friend  and  sister,  sweet  Elaine, 
Would  listen  for  her  coming,  and  regret 


ELAINE.  169 

Her  parting  step,  and  held  her  tenderly, 

And  loved  her  with  all  love  except  the  love 

Of  man  and  woman  when  they  love  their  best 

Closest  and  sweetest,  and  had  died  the  death 

In  any  knightly  fashion  for  her  sake. 

And  peradventure  had  he  seen  her  first 

She  might  have  made  this  and  that  other  world 

Another  world  for  the  sick  man ;  bnt  now 

The  shackles  of  an  old  love  straitened  him, 

His  honor  rooted  in  dishonor  stood. 

And  faith  unfaithful  kept  him  falsely  true. 

Yet  the  f>;reat  knicfht  in  his  mid-sickness  made 
Full  many  a  holy  vow  and  pure  resolve. 
These,  as  but  born  of  sickness,  could  not  live : 
For  when  the  blood  ran  lustier  in  him  again, 
Full  often  the  sweet  image  of  one  face. 
Making  a  treacherous  quiet  in  his  heart, 
Dispersed  his  resolution  like  a  cloud. 
Then  if  the  maiden,  while  that  ghostly  grace 
Beamed  on  his  fancy,  spoke,  he  answered  not, 
Or  short  and  coldly,  and  she  knew  right  well 
What  the  rough  sickness  meant,  but  what  this  meant 
She  knew  not,  and  the  sorrow  dimmed  her  sight, 
15 


170  ELAINE. 

And  drave  her  ere  her  time  across  the  fields 

Far  into  the  rich  city,  where  alone 

She  murmured,  ''  Yain,  in  vain  :  it  cannot  be. 

He  will  not  love  me  :  how  then  ?  must  I  die?" 

Then  as  a  little  helpless  innocent  bird, 

That  has  but  one  plain  passage  of  few  notes, 

"Will  sing  the  simjDle  passage  o'er  and  o'er 

For  all  an  April  morning,  till  the  ear 

Wearies  to  hear  it,  so  the  simple  maid 

Went  half  the  night  repeating,  "  Must  I  die  ?  " 

And  now  to  right  she  turned,  and  now  to  left, 

And  found  no  ease  in  turning  or  in  rest ; 

And  "  him  or  death,"  she  muttered,  "  death  or  him,' 

Again  and  like  a  burthen,  "  him  or  death." 

But  when  Sir  Lancelot's  deadly  hurt  was  whole. 
To  Astolat  returning  rode  the  three. 
There  morn  by  morn,  arraying  her  sweet  self 
In  that  wherein  she  deemed  she  looked  her  best, 
She  came  before  Sir  Lancelot,  for  she  thought, 
'•'  If  I  be  loved,  these  are  my  festal  robes. 
If  not,  the  victim's  flowers  before  he  fall." 
And  Lancelot  ever  prest  upon  the  maid 
That  she  should  ask  some  goodly  gift  of  him 


ELAINE.  171 

For  her  own  self  or  hers  ;  "  And  do  not  shun 

To  speak  the  wish  most  near  to  jour  true  heart ; 

Such  service  have  you  done  me,  that  I  make 

My  will  of  yours,  and  Prince  and  Lord  am  I 

In  mine  own  land,  and  what  I  will  I  can." 

Then  like  a  ghost  she  lifted  up  her  face, 

But  like  a  ghost  without  the  power  to  speak. 

And  Lancelot  saw  that  she  withheld  her  wish. 

And  bode  among  them  yet  a  little  space 

Till  he  should  learn  it ;  and  one  morn  it  chanced 

He  found  her  in  among  the  garden  yews, 

And  said,  "  Delay  no  longer,  speak  your  wish, 

Seeing  I  must  go  to-day  "  :  then  out  she  brake : 

"  Going  ?  and  we  shall  never  see  you  more. 

And  I  must  die  for  want  of  one  bold  word." 

"  Speak :  that  I  live  to  hear,"  he  said,  "  is  yours." 

Then  suddenly  and  passionately  she  spoke  : 

"  I  have  gone  mad.     I  love  you  :  let  me  die." 

"Ahj  sister,"  answered  Lancelot,  "what  is  this?" 

And  innocently  extending  her  white  arms, 

"  Your  love,"  she  said,  "  your  love  —  to  be  your  wife." 

And  Lancelot  answered,  "  Had  I  chos'n  to  wed, 

I  had  been  wedded  earlier,  sweet  Elaine : 

But  now  there  never  will  be  wife  of  mine." 


172  ELAINE. 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  "  I  care  not  to  be  wife, 

But  to  be  with  you  still,  to  see  your  face. 

To  serve  you,  and  to  follow  you  through  the  world." 

And  Lancelot  answered,  "  Nay,  thef  world,  the  world, 

All  ear  and  eye,  with  such  a  stupid  heart 

To  interpret  ear  and  eye,  and  such  a  tongue 

To  blare  its  own  interpretation  —  nay, 

Full  ill  then  should  I  quit  your  brother's  love, 

And  your  good  father's  kindness."     And  she  said, 

"  Not  to  be  with  you,  not  to  see  your  face  — 

Alas  for  me  then,  my  good  days  are  done." 

"  Nay,  noble  maid,"  he  answered,  "  ten  times  nay ! 

This  is  not  love :  but  love's  first  flash  in  youth. 

Most  common.     Yea,  I  know  it  of  mine  own  self; 

And  you  yourself  will  smile  at  your  own  self 

Hereafter,  when  you  yield  your  flower  of  life 

To  one  more  fitly  yours,  not  thrice  your  age : 

And  then  will  I,  for  true  you  are  and  sweet 

Beyond  mine  old  belief  in  womanhood  — 

More  specially  should  your  good  knight  be  poor, 

Endow  you  with  broad  land  and  territory 

Even  to  the  half  my  realm  beyond  the  seas, 

So  that  would  make  you  happy :  furthermore, 

Even  to  the  death,  as  though  you  were  my  blood. 


ELAINE.  173 

In  all  your  quarrels  will  I  be  your  knight. 
This  will  I  do,  dear  damsel,  for  your  sake, 
And  more  than  this  I  cannot." 

While  he  spoke 
She  neither  blushed  nor  shook,  but  deathly-pale 
Stood  grasping  what  was  nearest,  then  replied : 
"  Of  all  this  will  I  nothing,"  and  so  fell. 
And  thus  they  bore  her  swooning  to  her  tower. 

Then  spake,  to  whom  through  those  black  walls  of  yew 
Their  talk  had  pierced,  her  father.     "  Ay,  a  flash 
I  fear  me,  that  Avill  strike  my  blossom  dead. 
Too  courteous  are  you,  fair  Lord  Lancelot. 
I  pray  you,  use  some  rough  discourtesy 
To  blunt  or  break  her  passion." 

Lancelot  said, 
'•'  That  were  against  me  :    what  I  can  I  will "  ;    ' 
And  there  that  day  remained,  and  toward  even 
Sent  for  his  shield :  full  meekly  rose  the  maid, 
Stript  off  the  case,  and  gave  the  naked  shield ; 
Then,  when  she  heard  his  horse  upon  the  stones. 
Unclasping  flung  the  casement  back,  and  looked 
Down  on  his  helm,  from  wliich  her  sleeve  had  gone. 
And  Lancelot  knew  the*"  little  clinking  sound ; 
15  ^'^ 


174  ELAINE. 

And  she  by  tact  of  love  was  well  aware 
That  Lancelot  knew  that  she  was  looking  at  him. 
'    And  yet  he  glanced  not  up,  nor  waved  his  hand, 
Nor  bade  farewell,  but  sadly  rode  aAvay. 
This  was  the  one  discourtesy  that  he  used.  ( 

So  in  her  tower  alone  the  maiden  sat : 
His  very  shield  was  gone  ;  only  the  case, 
Her  own  poor  work,  her  empty  labor,  left. 
But  still  she  heard  him,  still  his  picture  formed 
And  grew  between  her  and  the  pictured  wall. 
Then  came  her  father,  saying  in  low  tones, 
"  Have  comfort,"  whom  she  greeted  quietly. 
Then  came  her  brethren,  saying,  "  Peace  to  thee, 
Sweet  sister,"  whom  she  answered  with  all  calm. 
But  when  they  left  her  to  herself  again, 
Death,  like  a  friend's  voice  from  a  distant  field 
Approaching  through  the  darkness,  called  ;  the  owls 
Wailing  had  power  upon  her,  and  she  mixt 
Her  fancies  with  the  sallow-rifted  glooms 
Of  evening,  and  the  moanings  of  the  wind. 

And  in  those  days  she  made  a  little  song. 
And  called  her  song,  "  The  Song  of  Love  and  Death, 
And  sang  it :  sweetly  could  she  make  and  sing. 


ELAINK.  175 

"  Sweet  is  true  love  though  given  iu  vain,  in  vain  ; 
And  sAveet  is  death  Avho  puts  an  end  to  pain  : 
I  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I. 

"  Love,  art  thou  sweet  ?  then  bitter  death  must  be : 
Love,  thou  art  bitter ;  sweet  is  death  to  me. 

0  Love,  if  death  be  sweeter,  let  me  die. 

"  Sweet  love,  that  seems  not  made  to  fade  away, 
Sweet  death,  that  seems  to  make  us  loveless  clay, 

1  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I. 

"  I  fain  would  follow  love,  if  that  could  be; 
I  needs' must  follow  death,  who  calls  for  me 
Call  and  I  follow,  I  follow !  —  let  me  die." 

High  with  the  last  line  scaled  her  voice,  and  this, 
All  in  a  fiery  dawning  wild  with  wind 
That  shook  her  tower,  the  brothers  heard,  and  thought, 
With  shuddering,  "•  Hark  the  Phantom  of  the  house 
That  ever  shrieks  before  a  death,"  and  called 
The  father,  and  all  three  in  hurry  and  fear 
Ran  to  her,  and  lo !  the  blood-red  light  of  dawn 
Flared  on  her  face,  she  shrilling,  "  Let  me  die  ! " 


176  ELAINE. 

As  ■when  we  dwell  upon  a  word  we  know, 
Repeating,  till  the  word  we  know  so  well 
Becomes  a  wonder  and  we  know  not  why, 
So  dwelt  the  father  on  her  face  and  thought, 
"  Is  this  Elaine  ?  "  till  back  the  maiden  fell, 
Then  gave  a  languid  hand  to  each,  and  lay, 
Speaking  a  still  good-morrow  with  her  eyes. 
At  last  she  said,  "  Sweet  brothers,  yesternight 
I  seemed  a  curious  little  maid  again, 
As  happy  as  when  we  dwelt  among  the  woods, 
And  when  you  used  to  take  me  with  the  flood 
Up  the  great  river  in  the  boatman's  boat. 
Only  you  would  not  pass  beyond  the  cape 
That  has  the  poplar  on  it :  there  you  fixt 
Your  limit,  oft  returning  with  the  tide. 
And  yet  I  cried  because  you  would  not  pass 
Beyond  it,  and  far  up  the  shining  flood 
Until  we  found  the  palace  of  the  king. 
And  yet  you  woukl  not ;  but  this  night  I  dreamed 
That  I  was  all  alone  upon  the  flood. 
And  then  I  said,  '  Now  shall  I  have  my  will ' : 
And  there  I  woke,  but  still  the  wish  remained. 
So  let  me  hence  that  I  may  pass  at  last 
Beyond  the  poplar  and  far  up  the  flood. 


ELAINE.  177 

Until  I  find  the  palace  of  the  king. 
There  will  I  enter  in  among  them  all, 
And  no  man  there  will  dare  to  mock  at  me ; 
But  there  the  fine  Gawain  will  wonder  at  me, 
And  there  the  great  Sir  Lancelot  muse  at  me  ; 
Gawain,  who  bade  a  thousand  farewells  to  me, 
Lancelot,  who  coldly  Avent  nor  bade  me  one : 
And  there  the  King  will  know  me  and  my  love, 
And  there  the  Queen  herself  will  pity  me, 
And  all  the  gentle  court  will  welcome  me, 
And  after  my  long  voyage  I  shall  rest !  " 

"  Peace,"  said  her  father,  "  O  my  child !  you  seem 
Light-headed,  for  what  force  is  yours  to  go 
So  far,  being  sick  ?  and  wherefore  would  you  look 
On  this  proud  fellow  again,  Avho  scorns  us  all  ?  " 

Then  tlie  rough  Torre  began  to  heave  and  move. 
And  bluster  into  stormy  sobs,  and  say, 
"  I  never  loved  him  :  an  I  meet  with  him, 
I  care  not  howsoever  great  he  be, 
Then  will  I  strike  at  him  and  strike  him  down, 
Give  me  good  fortune,  I  will  strike  him  dead, 
For  this  discomfort  he  hath  done  the  house." 


178 


To  wliich  lliG  gentle  sister  mnde  reply, 
"  Fret  not  yourself,  dear  brother,  nor  be  "vvrotli, 
Seeing  it  is  no  more  Sir  Lancelot's  fault 
Kot  to  love  me,  than  it  is  mine  to  love 
Him  of  all  men  Avho  seems  to  me  the  highest." 

''  Highest?"  the  father  answered,  echoing  "highest?" 
(He  meant  to  break  the  passion  in  her,)  "  nay, 
Daughter,  I  know  not  what  }^ou  call  the  highest ; 
But  this  I  know,  for  all  the  peojDle  know  it. 
He  loves  the  Queen,  and  in  an  open  shame  : 
And  she  returns  his  love  in  open  shame. 
If  tliis  be  high,  what  is  it  to  be  Ioav  ?  " 

Then  spake  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat : 
"  Sweet  father,  all  too  faint  and  sick  am  I 
For  anger  :  these  are  slanders :  never  yet 
Was  noble  man  but  made  ignoble  talk. 
He  makes  no  friend  Avho  never  made  a  foe. 
But  now  it  is  my  glory  to  have  loved 
One  peerless,  without  stain :  so  let  me  pass, 
My  father,  howsoe'er  I  seem  to  you, 
Xot  all  unhappy,  having  loved  God's  best 
And  greatest,  though  my  love  had  no  return : 


ELAINE.  179 

Yet,  seeing  you  desire  your  child  to  live, 
Thanks,  but  you  work  against  your  own  desire ; 
For  if  I  could  believe  the  things  you  say 
I  should  but  die  the  sooner  ;  wherefore  cease, 
Sweet  father,  and  bid  call  the  ghostly  man 
Hither,  and  let  me  shrive  me  clean,  and  die." 

So  when  the  ghostly  man  had  come  and  gone, 
She  with  a  face,  bright  as  for  sin  forgiven. 
Besought  Lavaine  to  write  as  she  devised 
A  letter,  word  for  word  ;  and  when  he  asked, 
"  Is  it  for  Lancelot,  is  it  for  my  dear  lord  ? 
Then  will  I  bear  it  gladly  "  ;  she  replied, 
'•  For  Lancelot  and  the  Queen  and  all  the  v\'orld. 
But  I  myself  must  bear  it."     Then  he  wrote 
The  letter  she  devised  ;  which  being  writ 
And  folded,  "  O  sweet  father,  tender  and  true, 
Deny  me  not,"  she  said  —  "  you  never  yet 
Denied  my  fancies  —  this,  however  strange, 
jMy  latest :  lay  the  letter  in  my  hand 
A  little  ere  I  die,  and  close  the  hand 
Upon  it ;  I  shall  guard  it  even  in  death. 
And  when  the  heat  is  gone  from  out  my  heart. 
Then  take  the  little  bed  on  which  I  died 


180  KLAINE. 

For  Lancelot's  love,  and  deck  it  like  the  Queen's 
For  richness,  and  me  also  like  the  Queen 
In  all  I  have  of  rich,  and  lay  me  on  it. 
And  let  there  be  prepared  a  chariot-hier 
To  take  me  to  the  river,  and  a  barge 
Be  ready  on  the  river,  clothed  in  black. 
I  go  in  state  to  court,  to  meet  the  Queen. 
There  surely  I  shall  speak  for  mine  own  self, 
And  none  of  you  can  speak  for  me  so  well. 
And  therefore  let  our  dumb  old  man  alone 
Go  with  me,  he  can  steer  and  row,  and  he 
Will  guide  me  to  that  palace,  to  the  doors." 

She  ceased  :  her  father  promised  ;  whereupon 
She  grew  so  cheerful  that  they  deemed  her  death 
Was  rather  in  the  fantasy  than  the  blood. 
But  ten  slow  mornings  past,  and  on  the  eleventh 
Her  father  laid  the  letter  in  her  hand, 
And  closed  the  hand  upon  it,  and  slie  died. 
So  that  day  there  was  dole  in  Astolat. 

But  when  the  next  sun  brake  from  underground, 
Then,  those  two  brethren  slowly  with  bent  brows 
Accompanying,  the  sad  chariot-bier 


ELAINE.  181 

Past  like  a  shadow  through  the  field,  that  shone 

Full-summer,  to  that  stream  whereon  the  barge, 

Palled  all  its  length  in  blackest  samite,  lay. 

There  sat  the  lifelong  creature  of  the  house, 

Loyal,  the  dumb  old  servitor,  on  deck, 

AYinking  his  eyes,  and  twisted  all  his  face. 

So  those  two  brethren  from  the  chariot  took 

And  on  the  black  decks  laid  her  in  her  bed, 

Set  in  her  hand  a  lily,  o'er  her  hung 

The  silken  case  with  braided  blazonings. 

And  kissed  her  quiet  brows,  and  saying  to  her, 

"  Sister,  farewell  for  ever,"  and  again, 

"  Farewell,  sweet  sister,"  parted  all  in  tears. 

Then  rose  the  dumb  old  servitor,  and  the  dead 

Steered  by  the  dumb  went  upward  with  the  flood  — 

In  her  right  hand  the  lily,  in  her  left 

The  letter  —  all  her  bright  hair  streaming  down  — 

And  all  the  coverlid  was  cloth  of  gold 

Drawn  to  her  waist,  and  she  herself  in  white 

All  but  her  face,  and  that  clear-featured  face 

"Was  lovely,  for  she  did  not  seem  as  dead. 

But  fast  asleep,  and  lay  as  though  she  smiled. 

That  day  Sir  Lancelot  at  the  palace  craved 
16 


182  ELAINE. 

Audience  of  Guinevere,  to  give  at  last 

The  price  of  half  a  realm,  his  costly  gift, 

Hard-won  and  hardly  won  with  bruise  and  blow, 

With  deaths  of  others,  and  almost  his  own, 

The  nine-years-fought-for  diamonds  :  for  he  saw 

One  of  her  house,  and  sent  him  to  the  Queen 

Bearing  his  wish,  whereto  the  Queen  agreed 

"With  such  and  so  unmoved  a  majesty 

She  might  have  seemed  her  statue,  but  that  he, 

Low-drooping  till  he  well-nigh  kissed  her  feet 

For  loyal  awe,  saw  with  a  sidelong  eye 

The  shadow  of  a  piece  of  pointed  lace, 

In  the  Queen's  shadow,  vibrate  on  the  walls, 

And  j)arted,  laughing  in  his  courtly  heart. 

All  in  an  oriel  on  the  summer  side, 
Vine-clad,  of  Arthur's  palace  toward  the  stream, 
They  met,  and  Lancelot  kneeling  uttered,  '•  Queen, 
Lady,  my  liege,  in  whom  I  have  my  joy, 
Take  what  I  had  not  won  except  for  you, 
These  jewels,  and  make  me  happy,  making  them 
An  armlet  for  the  roundest  arm  on  earth, 
Or  necklace  for  a  neck  to  which  the  swan's 
Is  tawnier  than  her  cygnet's :  these  are  words  : 


ELAINE.  183 

Your  beauty  is  your  beauty,  and  I  sin 

In  speaking,  yet  O  grant  my  worship  of  it 

AYords,  as  we  grant  gi*ief  tears.     Such  sin  in  words. 

Perchance,  we  both  can  pardon :  but,  my  Queen, 

I  hear  of  rumors  flying  through  your  court. 

Our  bond,  as  not  the  bond  of  man  and  wife. 

Should  have  in  it  an  absohiter  trust 

To  make  up  that  defect :  let  rumors  be  : 

When  did  not  rumors  fly  ?  these,  as  I  tr jst 

That  you  trust  me  in  your  own  nobleness, 

I  may  not  well  believe  that  you  believe.'* 

While  thus  he  spoke,  half  turned  away,  the  Queen 
Brake  from  the  vast  oriel-embowering  vine 
Leaf  after  leaf,  and  tore,  and  cast  them  off. 
Till  all  the  place  whereon  she  stood  was  green ; 
Then  when  he  ceased,  in  one  cold  passive  hand 
Received  at  once,  and  laid  aside,  the  gems 
There  on  a  table  near  her,  and  replied. 

"  It  may  be,  I  am  quicker  of  belief 
Than  you  believe  me,  Lancelot  of  the  Lake. 
Oar  bond  is  not  the  bond  of  man  and  wife. 
Tliis  good  is  in  it,  whatsoe'er  of  ill, 


184  ELAINE. 

It  can  be  broken  easier.     I  for  you 

This  many  a  year  have  done  despite  and  wrong 

To  one  whom  ever  in  my  heart  of  hearts 

I  did  acknowledge  nobler.     What  are  these  ? 

Diamonds  for  me !  they  had  been  thrice  their  worth 

Being  your  gift,  had  you  not  lost  your  own. 

To  loyal  hearts  the  value  of  all  gifts 

jMust  vary  as  the  giver's.     Not  for  me ! 

For  her !  for  your  new  fancy.     Only  this 

Grant  me,  I  pray  you  :  have  your  joys  apart. 

I  doubt  not  that  however  changed,  you  keep 

So  much  of  what  is  graceful :  and  myself 

Would  shun  to  break  those  bounds  of  courtesy 

In  which  as  Arthur's  queen  I  move  and  rule  : 

So  cannot  speak  my  mind.     An  end  to  this  ! 

A  strange  one  !  yet  I  take  it  with  Amen. 

So  pray  you,  add  my  diamonds  to  her  pearls  ; 

Deck  her  with  these ;  tell  her,  she  shines  me  down : 

An  armlet  for  an  arm  to  which  the  Queen's 

Is  haggard,  or  a  necklace  for  a  neck 

O  as  much  fairer  —  as  a  faith  once  fair 

Was  richer  than  these  diamonds  —  hers,  not  mine  — 

Nay,  by  the  mother  of  our  Lord  himself, 

Or  hers  or  mine,  mine  now  to  work  my  will  — 

She  shall  not  have  them." 


ELAINE.  185 

Saying  -which  she  seized, 
And,  through  the  casement  standing  wide  for  heat, 
Fkmg  them,   and   down   they  flashed,  and  smote   the 

stream. 
Then  from  the  smitten  surface  flashed,  as  it  were, 
Diamonds  to  meet  them,  and  they  past  away. 
Then  while  Sir  Lancelot  leant,  in  half  disgust 
At  love,  life,  all  things,  on  the  window  ledge, 
Close  underneath  his  eyes,  and  right  across 
Where  these  had  fallen,  slowly  past  the  barge 
AVhereon  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat 
Lay  smihng,  hke  a  star  in  blackest  night. 

But  the  wild  Queen,  who  saw  not,  burst  away 
To  weep  and  wail  in  secret ;  and  the  barge. 
On  to  the  palace-doorway  sliding,  paused. 
There  two  stood  armed,  and  kept  the  door ;  to  whom. 
All  up  the  marble  stair,  tier  over  tier. 
Were  added  mouths  that  gaped,  and  eyes  that  asked 
"  What  is  it  ?  "  but  that  oarsman's  haggard  face, 
As  hard  and  still  as  is  the  face  that  men 
Shape  to  their  fancy's  eye  from  broken  rocks 
On  some  cliff-side,  appalled  them,  and  they  said, 
"  He  is  enchanted,  cannot  speak  —  and  she, 
16* 


186 


Look  how  she  sleeps  —  the  Fairy  Queen,  so  fair  ! 
Yea,  but  how  pale  !  what  are  they  ?  flesh  and  blood  ? 
Or  come  to  take  the  king  to  fairy  land  ? 
For  some  do  hold  our  Arthur  cannot  die, 
But  that  he  passes  into  fairy  land." 

While  thus  they  babbled  of  the  king,  the  king 
Came  girt  with  knights  :  then  turned  the  tongueless  man 
From  the  half-foce  to  the  full  eye,  and  rose 
And  pointed  to  the  damsel,  and  the  doors. 
So  Arthur  bade  the  meek  Sir  Percivale 
And  pure  Sir  Galahad  to  uplift  the  maid ; 
And  reverently  they  bore  her  into  halL 
Then  came  the  fine  Gawain  and  wondered  at  her, 
And  Lancelot  later  came  and  mused  at  her, 
And  last  the  Queen  herself  and  pitied  her : 
But  Arthur  spied  the  letter  in  her  hand, 
Stoopt,  took,  brake  seal,  and  read  it ;  this  was  all. 

*•'  Most  noble  lord.  Sir  Lancelot  of  the  Lake, 
I,  sometime  called  the  maid  of  Astolat, 
Come,  for  you  left  me  taking  no  farewell, 
Hither,  to  take  my  last  farewell  of  you. 
I  loved  you,  and  my  love  had  no  return, 


ELAINE.  187 

And  therefore  my  true  love  has  been  my  death. 
And  therefore  to  our  lady  Guinevere, 
And  to  all  other  ladies,  I  make  moan. 
Pray  for  my  soul,  and  yield  me  burial. 
Pray  for  my  soul  thou  too,  Sir  Lancelot, 
As  thou  art  a  knight  peerless." 

Thus  he  read. 
And  ever  in  the  reading,  Lords  and  Dames 
Wept,  looking  often  from  his  face  who  read 
To  hers  which  lay  so  silent,  and  at  times. 
So  touched  were  they,  half  thinking  that  her  lips, 
Who  had  devised  the  letter,  moved  again. 

Then  freely  spoke  Sir  Lancelot  to  them  all : 
"  My  lord  liege  Arthur,  and  all  ye  that  hear. 
Know  that  for  this  most  gentle  maiden's  death 
Right  heavy  am  I ;  for  good  she  was  and  true. 
But  loved  me  with  a  love  beyond  all  love 
In  women,  whomsoever  I  have  known. 
Yet  to  be  loved  makes  not  to  love  again ; 
Not  at  my  years,  however  it  hold  in  youth. 
I  swear  by  truth  and  knighthood  that  I  gave 
Xo  cause,  not  willingly,  for  such  a  love : 


188  ELAINE. 

To  this  I  call  my  friends  in  testimony, 

Her  brethren,  and  her  father,  who  himself 

Besought  me  to  be  plain  and  blunt,  and  use 

To  break  her  passion  some  discourtesy 

Against  my  nature  :  what  I  could,  I  did. 

I  left  her  and  I  bade  her  no  farewell. 

Though,  had  I  dreamt  the  damsel  would  have  died, 

I  might  have  put  my  wits  to  some  rough  use, 

And  helped  her  from  herself." 

Then  said  the  Queen, 
(Sea  was  her  wrath,  yet  working  after  storm,) 
"  You  might  at  least  have  done  her  so  much  grace. 
Fair  lord,  as  would  have  helped  her  from  her  death." 
He  raised  his  head,  their  eyes  met  and  hers  fell. 
He  adding, 

"  Queen,  she  would  not  be  content 
Save  that  I  wedded  her,  which  could  not  be. 
Then  might  she  follow  me  through  the  world,  she  asked. 
It  could  not  be.     I  told  her  that  her  love 
"Was  but  the  flash  of  youth,  would  darken  down 
To  rise  hereafter  in  a  stiller  flame 
Toward  one  more  worthy  of  her  —  then  would  I, 


ELAINE.  189 

More  vSpecially  were  he  she  wedded  poor, 
Estate  them  with  large  land  and  territory 
In  mine  own  realm  beyond  the  narrow  seas, 
To  keep  them  in  all  joyance :  more  than  this 
I  could  not ;  this  she  would  not,  and  she  died." 

He  pausing,  Arthur  answered,  "  O  my  knight, 
It  will  be  to  your  worship,  as  my  knight. 
And  mine,  as  head  of  all  our  Table  Round, 
To  see  that  she  be  buried  worshipfully.'* 

So  toward  that  shrine  which  then  in  all  the  realm 
Was  richest,  Arthur  leading,  slowly  went 
The  marshalled  order  of  their  Table  Round, 
And  Lancelot  sad  beyond  his  wont,  to  see 
The  maiden  buried,  not  as  one  unknown, 
Nor  meanly,  but  with  gorgeous  obsequies. 
And  mass,  and  rolling  music,  like  a  Queen. 
And  when  the  knights  had  laid  her  comely  head 
Low  in  the  dust  of  half-forgotten  kings. 
Then  Arthur  spake  among  them,  "  Let  her  tomb 
Be  costly,  and  her  image  thereupon. 
And  let  the  shield  of  Lancelot  at  her  feet 
Be  carven,  and  her  lily  in  her  hand. 


190 


ELAINE. 


And  let  tlie  stoiy  of  her  dolorous  voyage 

For  all  true  hearts  be  blazoned  on  her  tomb 

In  letters  j^old  and  azure!"  which  was  wrouMit 

Thereafter ;  but  when  now  the  lords  and  dames 

And  people,  from  the  high  door  streaming,  brake 

Disorderly,  as  homeward  each,  the  Queen, 

Who  marked  Sir  Lancelot  where  he  moved  apart, 

Drew  near,  and  sighed  in  passing,  "  Lancelot, 

Forgive  me ;  mine  was  jealousy  in  love." 

He  answered  with  his  eyes  upon  the  ground, 

"  That  is  love's  curse ;  pass  on,  my  Queen,  forgiven." 

But  Arthur  who  beheld  his  cloudy  broAvs 

Approached  him,  and  with  full  affection  flung 

One  arm  about  his  neck,  and  spake  and  said : 

"  Lancelot,  my  Lancelot,  thou  in  whom  I  have 
Most  love  and  most  affiance,  for  I  know 
What  thou  hast  been  in  battle  by  my  side, 
And  many  a  time  have  watched  thee  at  the  tilt 
Strike  down  the  lusty  and  long-practised  knight, 
And  let  the  younger  and  unskilled  go  by 
To  win  his  honor  and  to  make  his  name. 
And  loved  thy  courtesies  and  thee,  a  man 
Made  to  be  loved ;  —  but  now  I  would  to  God, 


ELAINE.  191 

For  tlie  wild  people  say  wild  things  of  thee, 

Thou  couldst  have  loved  this  maiden,  shaped,  it  seems, 

By  God  for  thee  alone,  and  from  her  face, 

If  one  may  judge  the  living  by  the  dead, 

Delicately  pure  and  marvellously  fair, 

"Who  might  have  brought  thee,  now  a  lonely  man 

Wifeless  and  heirless,  noble  issue,  sons 

Born  to  the  glory  of  thy  name  and  fame, 

My  knight,  the  great  Sir  Lancelot  of  the  Lake," 

Then  answered  Lancelot,  "  Fair  she  was,  my  king, 
Pure,  as  ye  ever  Avish  3'our  knights  to  be. 
To  doubt  her  fairness  were  to  want  an  eye, 
To  doubt  her  jDureness  Avere  to  want  a  heart  — 
Yea,  to  be  loved,  if  what  is  worthy  love 
Could  bind  him,  but  free  love  will  not  be  bound.'* 

"  Free  love,  so  bound,  were  freest,"  said  the  king. 
Let  love  be  free ;  free  love  is  for  the  best : 
And,  after  heaven,  on  our  dull  side  of  death, 
What  should  be  best,  if  not  so  pure  a  love 
Clothed  in  so  pure  a  loveliness  ?  yet  thee 
She  failed  to  bind,  though  being,  as  I  think. 
Unbound  as  yet,  and  gentle,  as  I  know." 


192  ELAINE. 

And  Lancelot  answered  nothing,  but  he  went 
And  at  the  inrunning  of  a  little  brook 
Sat  by  the  river  in  a  cove,  and  watched 
The  high  reed  wave,  and  lifted  up  his  eyes 
And  saw  the  barge  that  brought  her  moving  down. 
Far  off,  a  blot  upon  the  stream,  and  said 
Low  in  himself,  ''  Ah  simple  heart  and  sweet. 
You  loved  me,  damsel,  surely  with  a  love 
Far  tenderer  than  my  Queen's.     Pray  for  thy  soul? 
Ay,  that  will  I.     Farewell  too  —  now  at  last  — 
Farewell,  fair  lily.     *  Jealousy  in  love  ? ' 
Kot  rather  dead  love's  harsh  heir,  jealous  pride  ? 
Queen,  if  I  grant  the  jealousy  as  of  love. 
May  not  your  crescent  fear  for  name  and  fame 
Speak,  as  it  waxes,  of  a  love  that  wanes  ? 
Why  did  the  king  dwell  on  my  name  to  me  ? 
Mine  own  name  shames  me,  seeming  a  reproach, 
Lancelot,  whom  the  Lady  of  the  lake 
Stole  from  his  mother  —  as  the  story  runs  — 
She  chanted  snatches  of  mysterious  song 
Heard  on  the  winding  waters,  eve  and  morn 
She  kissed  me,  saying,  Thou  art  fair,  my  child, 
As  a  king's  son,  and  often  in  her  arms 
She  bare  me,  pacing  on  the  dusky  mere. 


ELAINE.  193 

Would  she  had  drowned  me  in  it,  where'er  it  be ! 
For  what  am  I  ?  what  profits  me  my  name     ■ 
Of  greatest  knight  ?     I  fought  for  it,  and  have  it : 
Pleasure  to  have  it,  none ;  to  lose  it,  pain ; 
Now  grown  a  part  of  m^  :  but  what  use  in  it  ? 
To  make  men  worse  by  making  my  sin  known? 
Or^sin  seem  less, the  sinner  seeming  great? 
Alas  for  Arthur's  greatest  knight,  a  man 
Not  after  Arthur's  heart !     I  needs  must  break 
These  bonds  that  so  defame  me  :  not  without 
She  Avills  it  :•  would  I,  if  she  willed  it?  nay. 
Who  knows  ?  but  if  I  would  not,  then  may  God, 
I  pray  him,  send  a  sudden  Angel  down 
To  seize  me  by  the  hair  and  bear  me  far. 
And  fling  me  deep  in  that  forgotten  mere. 
Among  the  tumbled  fragments  of  the  hills." 

So  groaned  Sir  Lancelot  in  remorseful  pain, 
Not  knowing  he  should  die  a  holy  man. 


17 


GUINEVERE 


GUINEVERE. 


Queen  Guixeyere  had  fled  the  court,  and  sat 
There  in  the  holy  house  at  Almesbury 
Weepmg,  none  with  her  save  a  Uttle  maid, 
A  novice :  one  low  light  betwixt  them  burned 
Blurred  by  the  creeping  mist,  for  all  abroad, 
Beneath  a  moon  unseen  albeit  at  full. 
The  white  mist  like  a  face-cloth  to  the  face 
Clung  to  the  dead  earth,  and  the  land  was  still. 

For  hither  had  she  fled,  her  cause  of  flight 
Sir  Modred ;  he  the  nearest  to  the  King, 
His  nephew,  ever  like  a  subtle  beast 
Lay  couchant  with  his  eyes  upon  the  throne, 
Ready  to  spring,  waiting  a  chance :  for  this, 
He  chilled  the  popular  praises  of  the  King 
With  silent  smiles  of  slow  disparagement ; 
17* 


198  GUINEVERE. 

And  tampered  with  tlic  Lords  of  the  White  Horse, 
Heathen,  the  brood  by  Hengist  left ;  and  sought 
To  make  disruj^tion  in  the  Table  Round 
Of  Arthur,  and  to  splinter  it  into  feuds 
Serving  his  traitorous  end ;  and  all  his  aims 
Were  sharpened  by  strong  hate  for  Lancelot. 

For  thus  it  chanced  one  morn  when  all  the  court 
Green-suited,  but  with  plumes  that  mocked  the  may, 
Had  been,  their  wont,  a-maying  and  returned. 
That  Modred  still  in  green,  all  ear  and  eye. 
Climbed  to  the  high  top  of  the  garden-wall 
To  spy  some  secret  scandal  if  he  might. 
And  saw  the  Queen  who  sat  betwixt  her  best 
Enid,  and  lissome  Vivien,  of  her  court 
The  wiliest  and  the  worst ;  -and  more  than  this 
He  saw  not,  for  Sir  Lancelot  passing  by 
Spied  where  he  couched,  and  as  the  gardener's  hand 
Picks  from  the  colewort  a  green  caterpillar. 
So  from  the  high  wall  and  the  flowering  grove 
Of  grasses  Lancelot  plucked  him  by  the  heel, 
And  cast  him  as  a  worm  upon  the  v\'ay; 
But  when  he  knew  the  Prince,  though  marred  with  dust, 
He,  reverencing  Kmg's  blood  in  a  bad  man, 


GUINEVERE.  199 

Made  such  excuses  as  lie  might,  and  these 

Full  knightly  without  scorn  ;  for  in  those  days 

No  knight  of  Arthur's  noblest  dealt  in  scorn ; 

But,  if  a  man  were  halt  or  hunched,  in  him 

By  those  whom  God  had  made  full-limbed  and  tall, 

Scorn  was  allowed  as  part  of  his  defect, 

And  he  was  answered  softly  by  the  King 

And  all  his  Table.     So  Sir  Lancelot  holp 

To  raise  the  Prince,  who  rising,  twice  or  thrice 

Full  sharply  smote  his  knees,  and  smiled,  and  went : 

But,  ever  after,  the  small  violence  done 

Rankled  in  him  and  ruffled  all  his  heart, 

As  the  sharp  wind  that  ruffles  all  day  long 

A  little  bitter  pool  about  a  stone 

On  the  bare  coast. 

But  wheh  Sir  Lancelot  told 
This  matter  to  the  Queen,  at  fii-st  she  laughed 
Lightly,  to  think  of  Modred's  dusty  fall, 
Then  shuddered,  as  the  village  wife  who  cries, 
"  I  shudder,  some  one  steps  across  my  grave  "  ; 
Then  laughed  again,  but  faintlier,  for  indeed 
She  half  foresaw  that  he,  the  subtle  beast, 
Would  track  her  guilt  until  he  found,  and  hers 


200  GUIXnVERE. 

AVould  be  for  evermore  a  name  of  scorn. 
Henceforward  rarely  could  she  front  in  Hall, 
Or  elsewhere,  Modred's  narrow  foxy  face, 
Heart-hiding  smile,  and  gray  persistent  eye  : 
Henceforward  too,  the  Powers  that  tend  the  soul, 
To  help  it  from  the  death  that  cannot  die. 
And  save  it  even  in  extremes,  began 
To  vex  and  plague  her.     Many  a  time  for  hours. 
Beside  the  placid  breathings  of  the  King, 
In  the  dead  night,  grim  faces  came  and  went 
Before  her,  or  a  vague  spiritual  fear  — 
Like  to  some  doubtful  noise  of  creaking  doors 
Heard  by  the  Avatcher  in  a  haunted  house 
That  keeps  the  rust  of  murder  on  the  walls  — 
Held  her  awake  :  or  if  she  slept,  she  dreamed 
An  awful  dream ;  for  then  she  seemed  to  stand 
On  some  vast  plain  before  a  setting  sun. 
And  from  the  sun  there  swiftly  made  at  her 
A  ghastly  something,  and  its  shadow  flew 
Before  it,  till  it  touched  her,  and  she  turned  — 
When  lo !  her  own,  that  broadening  from  her  feet, 
And  blackening,  swallowed  all  the  land,  and  in  it 
Far  cities  burnt,  and  with  a  cry  she  woke. 
And  all  this  trouble  did  not  pass  but  grew ; 


GUINEVERE.  201 

Till  ev'n  the  clear  face  of  the  guileless  King, 

And  trustful  courtesies  of  household  life, 

Became  her  bane ;  and  at  the  last  she  said, 

"  O  Lancelot,  get  thee  hence  to  thine  own  land, 

For  if  thou  tany  we  shall  meet  again, 

And  if  we  meet  again,  some  evil  chance 

Will  make  the  smouldering  scandal  break  and  blaze 

Before  the  people,  and  our  lord  the  King." 

And  Lancelot  ever  promised,  but  remained. 

And  still  they  met  and  met.     Again  she  said, 

"  O  Lancelot,  if  thou  love  me  get  thee  hence." 

And  then  they  were  agreed  upon  a  night 

(When  the  good  King  should  not  be  there)  to  meet 

And  part  for  ever.     Passion-pale  they  met 

And  greeted :  hands  in  hands,  and  eye  to  eye. 

Low  on  the  border  of  her  couch  they  sat 

Stammering  and  staring :  it  was  their  last  hour, 

A  madness  of  farewells.     And  Modred  brought 

His  creatures  to  the  basement  of  the  tower 

For  testimony ;  and  crying  with  full  voice, 

"  Traitor,  come  out,  ye  are  trapt  at  last,"  aroused 

Lancelot,  who  rushing  outward  lionlike 

Leapt  on  him,  and  hurled  him  headlong,  and  he  fell 

Stunned,  and  his  creatures  took  and  bare  him  off, 


202  GUINEVEIIE. 

And  all  was  still :  then  she,  "  The  end  is  come 

And  I  am  shamed  for  ever,"  and  he  said, 

"  Mine  be  the  shame ;  mine  was  the  sin :  but  rise. 

And  fly  to  my  strong  castle  overseas: 

There  will  I  hide  thee,  till  my  life  shall  end. 

There  hold  thee  with  my  life  against  the  world." 

She  answered,  "  Lancelot,  wilt  thou  hold  me  so  ? 

Nay,  friend,  for  we  have  taken  our  farewells. 

Would  God,  that  thou  couldst  hide  me  from  myself ! 

Mine  is  the  shame,  for  I  was  wife,  and  thou 

Unwedded :  yet  rise  now,  and  let  us  fly, 

For  I  will  draw  me  into  sanctuary 

And  bide  my  doom."     So  Lancelot  got  her  horse. 

Set  her  thereon,  and  mounted  on  his  own, 

And  then  they  rode  to  the  divided  way, 

There  kissed,  and  parted  weeping :  for  he  past, 

Love-loyal  to  the  least  wish  of  the  Queen, 

Back  to  his  land ;  but  she  to  Almesbury 

Fled  all  night  long  by  glimmering  waste  and  weald, 

And  heard  the  Spirits  of  the  waste  and  weald, 

Moan  as  she  fled,  or  thought  she  heard  them  moan : 

And  in  herself  she  moaned,  "  Too  late,  too  late  ! " 

Till  in  the  cold  wind  that  foreruns  the  morn, 

A  blot  in  heaven,  the  Raven,  flying  high, 


GUINEVERE.  203 

Croaked,  and  she  thought,  "  He  spies  a  field  of  death ; 
For  now  the  Heathen  of  the  Northern  Sea, 
Lured  by  the  crimes  and  fraikies  of  the  court, 
Begin  to  slay  the  folk,  and  spoil  the  land." 

And  when  she  came  to  Almesbury  she  spake 
There  to  the  nuns,  and  said,  "  Mine  enemies 
Pursue  me,  but,  O  peaceful  Sisterhood, 
Receive,  and  yield  me  sanctuary,  nor  ask 
Her  name,  to  whom  ye  yield  it,  till  her  time 
To  tell  you,"  and  her  beauty,  grace,  and  power 
Wrought  as  a  charm  upon  them,  and  they  spared 
To  ask  it. 

So  the  stately  Queen  abode 
For  many  a  Aveek,  unknown,  among  the  nuns : 
Nor  with  them  mixed,  nor  told  her  name,  nor  sought. 
Wrapt  in  her  grief,  for  housel  or  for  shrift, 
But  communed  only  with  the  little  maid 
Wlio  pleased  her  with  a  babbling  heedlessness 
Which  often  lured  her  from  herself ;  but  now, 
This  night,  a  rumor  wildly  blown  about 
Came,  that  Sir  Modred  had  usurped  the  realm, 
And  leagued  him  with  the  Heathen,  while  the  King 


204:  GUINEVERE. 

"Was  waging  war  on  Lancelot :  then  she  thought, 

"  With  what  a  hate  the  i^cople  and  the  King 

Must  hate  me  !  "  and  bowed  down  upon  her  hands 

Silent,  until  the  little  maid,  who  brooked 

No  silence,  brake  it,  uttering,  ''  Late  !  so  late  ! 

What  hour,  I  wonder,  now  ?  "  and  when  she  drew 

No  answer,  by  and  by  began  to  hum 

An  air  the  nuns  had  taught  her,  "  Late,  so  late  !  " 

Which  when  she  heard,  the  Queen  looked  up,  and  said, 

"  O  maiden,  if  indeed  ye  list  to  sing. 

Sing,  and  unbind  my  heart  that  I  may  weep." 

Whereat  full  Avillingly  sang  the  little  maid. 

'"  Late,  late,  so  late  !  and  dark  the  night  and  chill ! 
Late,  late,  so  late !  but  we  can  enter  still. 
Too  late,  too  late  !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

"  No  light  had  we :  for  that  we  do  repent ; 
And  learning  this,  the  bridegroom  will  relent. 
Too  late,  too  late  !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

"  No  light :  so  late  !  and  dark  and  chill  the  night 
O  let  us  in,  that  we  may  find  the  light ! 
Too  late,  too  late  !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 


GUINEVERE.  205 

"  Have  we  not  heard  the  bridegroom  is  so  SAveet  ? 
O  let  113  in,  though  late,  to  kiss  his  feet ! 
No,  no,  too  late !  ye  cannot  enter  now." 

So  sang  the  novice,  while  full  passionately, 
Her  head  upon  her  hands,  remembering 
Her  thought  when  first  she  came,  wept  the  sad  Queen. 
Then  said  the  little  novice  prattUng  to  her : 

"  O  pray  you,  noble  lady,  weep  no  more ; 
But  let  my  words,  the  words  of  one  so  small, 
Who  knowing  nothing  knows  but  to  obey, 
And  if  I  do  not,  there  is  penance  given  — 
Comfort  your  sorrows  ;  for  they  do  not  flow 
From  evil  done ;  right  sure  am  I  of  that. 
Who  see  your  tender  grace  and  stateliness. 
But  weigh  your  sorrows  ^vith  our  lord  the  King's, 
And  weighing  find  them  less  ;  for  gone  is  he 
To  wage  grim  war  against  Sir  Lancelot  there. 
Bound  that  strong  Castle  where  he  holds  the  Queen ;. 
And  Modred,  whom  he  left  in  charge  of  all. 
The  traitor  —  Ah,  sweet  lady,  the  King's  grief 
For  his  own  self,  and  his  own  Queen,  and  realm, 
Must  needs  be  thrice  as  great  as  any  of  ours. 
18 


206  GUINEVEllE. 

For  me,  I  thank  tlic  saints,  I  am  not  great. 

For  if  there  ever  come  a  grief  to  me, 

I  cry  my  cry  in  silence,  and  have  done  : 

None  knows  it,  and  my  tears  have  brought  me  good 

But  even  were  the  griefs  of  little  ones 

As  great  as  those  of  great  ones,  yet  this  grief 

Is  added  to  the  griefs  the  great  must  bear. 

That  howsoever  much  they  may  desire 

Silence,  they  cannot  weep  behind  a  cloud  : 

As  even  here  they  talk  at  Almesbury 

About  the  good  king  and  his  wicked  queen, 

And  were  I  such  a  king  with  such  a  queen, 

Well  might  I  wish  to  veil  her  wickedness, 

But  were  I  such  a  king,  it  could  not  be." 

Then  to  her  own  sad  heart  muttered  the  Queen, 
"  "Will  the  child  kill  me  with  her  innocent  talk  ?  " 
But  openly  she  answered,  "  Must  not  I, 
If  this  false  traitor  have  displaced  his  lord. 
Grieve  with  the  common  grief  of  all  the  realm  ?  " 

"  Yea,"  said  the  maid,  "  this  is  all  woman's  grief, 
That  she  is  woman,  whose  disloyal  life 
Hath  wrought  confusion  in  the  Table  Round 


GUINEVERE.  207 

AYliIcli  good  King  Arthur  founded,  years  ago, 
AYitli  signs  and  miracles  and  wonders,  there 
At  Camelot,  ere  the  coming  of  the  Queen.'* 

Then  thought  the  Queen  within  herself  again, 
"Will  the  child  kill  me  with  her  foolish  prate?" 
But  openly  she  spake  and  said  to  her : 
"  O  little  maid  shut  in  by  nunnery  M'alls, 
What  canst  thou  know  of  Kings  and  Tables  Round, 
Or  what  of  signs  and  wonders,  but  the  signs 
And  simple  miracles  of  thy  nunnery  ?  " 

To  whom  the  Jittle  novice  garrulously  : 
"  Yea,  but  I  know :  the  land  was  full  of  signs 
And  wonders  ere  the  coming  of  the  Queen. 
So  said  my  father,  and  himself  was  knight 
Of  the  great  Table  —  at  the  founding  of  it ; 
And  rode  thereto  from  Lyonnesse,  and  he  said 
That  as  he  rode,  an  hour  or  maybe  twain 
After  the  sunset,  down  the  coast,  he  heard 
Strange  music,  and  he  paused  and  turning  —  there, 
All  down  the  lonely  coast  of  Lyonnesse, 
Each  with  a  beacon-star  upon  his  head, 
And  with  a  wild  sea-light  about  his  feet, 


208  GUINEVEKE. 

He  saw  them  —  headland  after  headland  flame 
Far  on  into  the  rich  heart  of  the  west : 
And  in  the  light  the  white  mermaiden  swam, 
And  strong  man-breasted  things  stood  from  the  sea, 
And  sent  a  deep  sea-voice  through  all  the  land, 
To  which  the  little  elves  of  chasm  and  cleft 
Made  answer,  sounding  like  a  distant  horn. 
So  said  my  father  —  yea,  and  furthermore, 
Next  morning,  while  he  jDast  the  dim-lit  woods. 
Himself  beheld  three  spirits  mad  with  joy 
Come  dashing  down  on  a  tall  wayside  flower, 
That  shook  beneath  them,  as  the  thistle  shakes 
When  three  gray  linnets  wrangle  for  the  seed : 
And  still  at  evenings  on  before  his  horse 
The  flickering  fairy-circle  wheeled  and  broke 
Flying,  and  linked  again,  and  wheeled  and  broke 
Flying,  for  all  the  land  was  full  of  life. 
And  when  at  last  he  came  to  Camelot, 
A  wreath  of  airy  dancers  hand-in-hand 
Swung  round  the  lighted  lantern  of  the  hall; 
And  in  the  hall  itself  was  such  a  feast 
As  never  man  had  dreamed ;  for  every  knight 
Had  whatsoever  meat  he  longed  for  served 
By  hands  unseen ;  and  even  as  he  said 


GUINEVERE.  209 

Down  in  the  cellars  merry  bloated  things 
Shouldered  the  spigot,  straddling  on  the  butts 
While  the  wine  ran :  so  glad  were  spirits  and  men 
Before  the  coming  of  the  sinful  Queen." 

Then  spake  the  Queen,  and  somewhat  bitterly : 
"  "Were  they  so  glad  ?  ill  prophets  were  they  all, 
Spirits  and  men :  could  none  of  them  foresee, 
Not  even  thy  wise  father  with  his  signs 
And  wonders,  what  has  fallen  upon  the  realm  ?  " 

To  whom  the  novice  garrulously  again : 
"  Yea,  one,  a  bard,  of  whom  my  father  said. 
Full  many  a  noble  war-song  had  he  sung, 
Ev'n  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy's  fleet, 
Between  the  steep  cliff  and  the  coming  wave ; 
And  many  a  mystic  lay  of  life  and  death 
Had  chanted  on  the  smoky  mountain-tops. 
When  round  him  bent  the  spirits  of  the  hills 
With  all  their  dewy  hair  blown  back  like  flame : 
So  said  my  father  —  and  that  night  the  bard 
Sang  Arthur's  glorious  wars,  and  sang  the  king 
As  well-nigh  more  than  man,  and  railed  at  those 
Who  called  him  the  false  son  of  Gorlois : 
18* 


210  GUINEVERE. 

For  there  was  no  man  knew  from  Avlience  he  came ; 

But  after  tempest,  when  the  long  Avave  broke 

All  down  the  thundering  shores  of  I>udc  and  Boss, 

There  came  a  day  as  still  as  heaven,  and  then 

They  found  a  naked  child  upon  the  sands 

Of  wild  Dundagil  by  the  Cornish  sea ; 

And  that  was  Arthur ;  and  they  fostered  him 

Till  he  by  miracle  was  approven  king : 

And  that  his  grave  should  be  a  mystery 

From  all  men,  like  his  birth ;  and  could  he  find 

A  woman  in  her  womanhood  as  great 

As  he  was  in  his  manhood,  then,  he  sang. 

The  twain  together  well  might  change  the  world. 

But  even  in  the  middle  of  his  song 

He  faltered,  and  his  hand  fell  from  the  harp, 

And  pale  he  turned,  and  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen, 

But  that  they  stayediiim  up  ;  nor  would  he  tell 

His  vision ;  but  what  doubt  that  he  foresavr 

This  evil  work  of  Lancelot  and  the  Queen  ?  " 

Then  thought  the  Queen,  "  Lo  !  they  have  set  her  on, 
Our  simple-seeming  Abbess  and  her  nuns, 
To  play  upon  me,"  and  bowed  her  head  nor  spake. 
Whereat  the  novice  crying,  with  clasped  hands, 


GUINEVERE.  211 

Shame  on  her  own  garruHty  garrulously, 

Said  the  good  nuns  would  check  her  gadding  tongue 

Full  often,  "  and,  sweet  lady,  if  I  seem 

To  vex  an  ear  too  sad  to  listen  to  me. 

Unmannerly,  with  prattling  and  the  tales 

"Which  my  good  father  told  me,  check  me  too : 

Nor  let  me  shame  my  father's  memory,  one 

Of  noblest  manners,  though  himself  would  say 

Sir  Lancelot  had  the  noblest ;  and  he  died, 

Killed  in  a  tilt,  come  next,  five  summers  back. 

And  left  me  ;  but  of  others  wdio  remain. 

And  of  the  two  first-famed  for  courtesy  — 

And  pray  you  check  me  if  I  ask  amiss  — 

But  pray  you,  wdiich  had  noblest,  while  you  moved 

Among  them,  Lancelot  or  our  lord  the  King  ?  " 

Then  the  pale  Queen  looked  up  and  answered  her. 
"  Sir  Lancelot,  as  became  a  noble  knight, 
"Was  gracious  to  all  ladies,  and  the  same 
Li  open  battle  or  the  tilting-field 
Forbore  his  own  advantage,  and  the  King 
In  open  battle  or  the  tilting-field 
Forbore  his  own  advantage,  and  these  two 
Were  the  most  nobly-mannered  men  of  all ; 


212  GUINEVERE. 

For  manners  are  not  idle,  but  the  fruit 
Of  loyal  nature,  and  of  noble  mind." 

"  Yea,"  said  the  maid,  "  be  manners  such  fair  fruit  ? 
Then  Lancelot's  needs  must  be  a  thousand-fold 
Less  noble,  being,  as  all  rumor  runs, 
The  most  disloyal  friend  in  all  the  Avorld." 

To  which  a  mournful  answer  made  the  Queen. 
"  0  closed  about  by  narrowing  nunnery-walls, 
"What  knowest  thou  of  the  world,  and  all  its  lights 
And  shadows,  all  the  wealth  and  all  the  woe  ? 
If  ever  Lancelot,  that  most  noble  knight, 
"Were  for  one  hour  less  noble  than  himself, 
Pray  for  him  that  he  scape  the  doom  of  fire, 
And  weep  for  her  who  drew  him  to  his  doom." 

"  Yea,"  said  the  little  novice,  "  I  pray  for  both  ; 
But  I  should  all  as  soon  beUeve  that  his. 
Sir  Lancelot's,  were  as  noble  as  the  King's, 
As  I  could  think,  sweet  lady,  yours  would  be 
Such  as  they  are,  were  you  the  sinful  Queen." 

So  she,  like  many  another  babbler,  hurt 


GUINEVERE.  213 

Whom  she  would  soothe,  and  harmed  where  she  would 

heal ; 
For  here  a  sudden  flush  of  wrathful  heat 
Fired  all  the  pale  face  of  the  Queen,  who  cried, 
'•'  Such  as  thou  art  be  never  maiden  more 
For  ever  !  thou  their  tool,  set  on  to  plague 
And  play  upon,  and  harry  me,  petty  spy 
And  traitress."     When  that  storm  of  anger  brake 
From  Guinevere,  aghast  the  maiden  rose, 
White  as  her  veil,  and  stood  before  the  Queen 
As  tremulously  as  foam  upon  the  beach 
Stands  in  a  wind,  ready  to  break  and  fly, 
And  when  the  Queen  had  added,  "  Get  thee  hence," 
Fled  frighted.     Then  that  other  left  alone 
Sighed,  and  began  to  gather  heart  again, 
Saying  in  herself,  "  The  simple,  fearful  child 
Meant  nothing,  but  my  own  too-fearful  guilt, 
Simpler  than  any  child,  betrays  itself. 
But  help  me,  Heaven,  for  surely  I  repent. 
For  what  is  true  repentance  but  in  thought  — 
Not  ev'n  in  inmost  thought  to  think  again 
The  sins  that  made  the  past  so  pleasant  to  us : 
And  I  have  sworn  never  to  see  him  more, 
To  see  him  more." 


214  GUINEVERE. 

And  ev'n  in  saying  this, 
Her  memory  from  old  liabit  of  the  mind 
Went  shpping  back  upon  the  golden  days 
In  which  she  saw  him  first,  when  Lancelot  came, 
Reputed  the  best  knight  and  goodliest  man, 
Ambassador,  to  lead  her  to  his  lord 
Arthur,  and  led  her  forth,  and  far  ahead 
Of  his  and  her  retinue  moving,  they, 
Rapt  in  sweet  talk  or  lively,  all  on  love 
And  sport  and  tilts  and  pleasure,  (for  the  time 
"Was  maytime,  and  as  yet  no  sin  was  dreamed,) 
Rode  under  groves  that  looked  a  paradise 
Of  blossom,  over  sheets  of  hyacinth 
That  seemed  the  heavens  upbreaking  through  the  earth. 
And  on  from  hill  to  hill,  and  every  day 
Beheld  at  noon  in  some  delicious  dale 
The  silk  pavilions  of  King  Arthur  raised 
For  brief  repast  or  afternoon  repose 
By  couriers  gone  before ;  and  on  again, 
Till  yet  once  more  ere  set  of  sun  they  saw 
The  Dragon  of  the  great  Pendragonship, 
That  crowned  the  state  pavilion  of  the  King, 
Blaze  by  the  rushing  brook  or  silent  weU. 


GUINEVERE.  215 

But  A\'lien  the  Queen  immersed  in  such  a  trance, 
And  moving  through  the  past  unconsciously, 
Came  to  that  point,  when  first  she  saw  the  King 
Ride  toward  her  from  tlie  city,  sighed  to  find 
Her  journey  done,  glanced  at  him,  thought  him  cold. 
High,  self-contained,  and  passionless,  not  like  him, 
"  Not  like  my  Lancelot,"  —  while  she  brooded  thus 
And  grew  half  guilty  in  her  thoughts  again. 
There  rode  an  armed  warrior  to  the  doors. 
A  murmuring  whisper  through  the  nunnery  ran, 
Then  on  a  sudden  a  cry,  "  The  King."     She  sat 
Stiff-stricken,  listening ;  but  when  armed  feet 
Through  the  long  gallery  from  the  outer  doors 
Rang  coming,  prone  from  off  her  seat  she  fell. 
And  ffro veiled  with  her  face  ao;ainst  the  floor : 
There  with  her  milk-white  arms  and  shadowy  hair 
She  made  her  face  a  darkness  from  the  King : 
And  in  the  darkness  heard  his  armed  feet 
Pause  by  her ;  then  came  silence,  then  a  voice 
Monotonous  and  hollow  like  a  Ghost's 
Denouncing  judgment,  but  though  changed  the  Iving's. 

"  Liest  thou  here  so  low,  the  child  of  one 
I  honored,  happy,  dead  before  thy  shame. 


216  GUINEVERE. 

Well  is  it  that  no  child  is  born  of  thee. 

The  children  born  of  thee  are  sword  and  fire, 

Red  ruin,  and  the  breaking  np  of  laws, 

The  craft  of  kindred  and  the  Godless  hosts 

Of  heathen  swarming  o'er  the  ^N'orthem  Sea. 

"Whom  I,  while  yet  Sir  Lancelot  my  right  arm, 

The  mightiest  of  my  knights,  abode  with  me. 

Have  everywhere  about  this  land  of  Christ 

In  twelve  great  battles  ruining  overthrown. 

And  knowest  thou  now  from  whence  I  come — from  him, 

From  waging  bitter  war  with  him :  and  he. 

That  did  not  shun  to  smite  me  in  worse  way. 

Had  yet  that  grace  of  courtesy  in  him  left, 

He  spared  to  lift  his  hand  against  the  King 

Who  made  him  knight :  but  many  a  knight  was  slain  ; 

And  many  more  and  all  his  kith  and  kin 

Clave  to  him  and  abode  in  his  own  land. 

And  many  more  when  Modred  raised  revolt, 

Forgetful  of  their  troth  and  fealty,  clave 

To  Modred,  and  a  remnant  stays  with  me. 

And  of  this  remnant  will  I  leave  a  jiart, 

True  men  w^ho  love  me  still,  for  whom  I  live, 

To  guard  thee  in  the  wild  hour  coming  on. 

Lest  but  a  hair  of  this  low  head  be  harmed. 


GUINEVERE.  217 

Fear  not :  thou  shalt  be  guarded  till  my  death. 
Howbeit  I  know,  if  ancient  prophecies 
Have  erred  not,  that  I  march  to  meet  my  doom. 
Thou  hast  not  made  mj  life  so  sweet  to  me. 
That  I  the  king  should  greatly  care  to  live  ; 
For  thou  hast  spoilt  the  purpose  of  my  life. 
Bear  with  me  for  the  last  time  while  I  show, 
Ev'n  for  thy  sake,  the  sin  which  thou  hast  sinned. 
For  when  the  Roman  left  us,  and  their  laAV 
Relaxed  its  hold  upon  us,  and  the  ways 
Were  filled  with  rapine,  here  and  there  a  deed 
Of  prowess  done  redressed  a  random  wrong. 
But  I  was  first  of  all  the  kings  who  drew 
The  knighthood-errant  of  this  reahn  and  all 
The  realms  together  under  me,  their  Head, 
In  that  fair  order  of  my  Table  Round, 
A  glorious  company,  the  flower  of  men, 
To  serve  as  model  for  the  mighty  world, 
And  be  the  fair  beginning  of  a  time. 
I  made  them  lay  their  hands  in  mine  and  swear 
To  reverence  the  King,  as  if  he  were 
Their  conscience,  and  their  conscience  as  their  King, 
To  break  the  heathen  and  uphold  the  Christ, 
To  ride  abroad  redressmg  human  wrongs, 
19 


218  GUINEVERE. 

To  speak  no  slander,  no,  nor  listen  to  it, 

To  lead  sweet  lives  in  purest  chastity, 

To  love  one  maiden  only,  cleave  to  her, 

And  worship  her  by  years  of  noble  deeds, 

Until  they  won  her  ;  for  indeed  I  knew 

Of  no  more  subtle  master  under  heaven 

Than  is  the  maiden  passion  for  a  maid 

Not  only  to  keep  down  the  base  in  man. 

But  teach  high  thought,  and  amiable  words 

And  courtliness,  and  the  desu-e  of  fame. 

And  love  of  truth,  and  all  that  makes  a  man. 

And  all  this  throve  until  I  wedded  thee ! 

Believing,  "  Lo  mine  helpmate,  one  to  feel 

My  pui'pose  and  rejoicing  in  my  joy." 

Then  came  thy  shameful  sin  with  Lancelot ; 

Then  came  the  sin  of  Tristram  and  Isolt ; 

Then  others,  following  these  my  mightiest  knights, 

And  drawing  foul  ensample  from  fair  names, 

Sinned  also,  till  the  loathsome  opposite 

Of  all  my  heart  had  destined  did  obtain, 

And  all  through  thee !  so  that  this  life  of  mine 

I  guard  as  God's  high  gift  from  scathe  and  A\Tong, 

Not  greatly  care  to  lose  ;  but  rather  think 

How  sad  it  were  for  Arthur,  should  he  live. 


GUINEVERE.  219 

To  sit  once  more  within  his  lonely  hall, 

And  miss  the  wonted  number  of  my  knights, 

And  miss  to  hear  high  talk  of  noble  deeds 

As  in  the  golden  days  before  thy  sin. 

For  which  of  us,  who  might  be  left,  could  speak 

Of  the  pure  heart,  nor  seem  to  glance  at  thee  ? 

And  in  thy  bowers  of  Camelot  or  of  Usk 

Thy  shadow  still  would  glide  from  room  to  room, 

And  I  should  evermore  be  vext  with  thee 

In  hanging  robe  or  vacant  ornament. 

Or  ghostly  footfall  echoing  on  the  stair : 

For  think  not,  though  thou  wouldst  not  love  thy  lord. 

Thy  lord  has  wholly  lost  his  love  for  thee. 

I  am  not  made  of  so  slight  elements. 

Yet  must  I  leave  thee,  woman,  to  thy  shame. 

I  hold  that  man  the  Avorst  of  public  foes 

Who  either  for  his  own  or  children's  sake. 

To  save  his  blood  from  scandal,  lets  the  wife 

"Whom  he  knows  false  abide  and  rule  the  house : 

For  being  through  his  cowardice  allowed 

Her  station,  taken  everywhere  for  pure, 

She  like  a  new  disease,  unknown  to  men, 

Creeps,  no  precaution  used,  among  the  crowd, 

Makes  wicked  lightnmgs  of  her  eyes,  and  saps 


220  GUINEVERE. 

The  fealty  of  our  friends,  and  stirs  the  pulse 
With  devil's  leaps,  and  poisons  half  the  young. 
Worst  of  the  worst  were  that  man  he  that  reigns ! 
Better  the  king's  waste  hearth  and  aching  heart 
Than  thou  reseated  in  thy  place  of  hght, 
The  mockeiy  of  my  people,  and  their  bane." 

He  i^aused,  and  in  the  pause  she  crept  an  inch 
Nearer,  and  laid  her  hands  about  his  feet. 
Far  off  a  solitary  trumpet  blew. 
Then  waiting  by  the  doors  the  war-horse  neighed 
As  at  a  friend's  voice,  and  he  spake  again. 

"  Yet  think  not  that  I  come  to  urge  thy  crimes, 
I  did  not  come  to  curse  thee,  Guinevere, 
I,  whose  vast  pity  almost  makes  me  die 
To  see  thee,  laying  there  thy  golden  head, 
My  pride  in  happier  summers,  at  my  feet. 
The  wrath  which  forced  my  thoughts  on  that  fierce  law, 
The  doom  of  treason  and  the  flaming  death, 
("When  first  I  learnt  thee  hidden  here,)  is  past. 
The  pang  —  which  while  I  weighed  thy  heart  with  one 
Too  Avholly  true  to  dream  untruth  in  thee. 
Made  my  tears  burn  —  is  also  past,  in  part. 


GUINEVERE.  221 

And  all  is  past,  the  sin  is  sinned,  and  I, 
Lo  !  I  forgive  thee,  as  Eternal  God 
Forgives :  do  thou  for  tliine  own  soul  the  rest. 
But  how  to  take  last  leave  of  all  I  loved  ? 

0  golden  hair,  with  which  I  used  to  play 
Not  knowing !  O  imperial-moulded  form. 
And  beauty  such  as  never  woman  wore. 
Until  it  came  a  kingdom's  curse  with  thee  — 

1  cannot  touch  thy  lips,  they  are  not  mine. 

But  Lancelot's  :  nay,  they  never  were  the  King's. 
I  cannot  take  thy  hand ;  that  too  is  flesh. 
And  in  the  flesh  thou  hast  sinned ;   and  mine  own  flesh. 
Here  looking  down  on  thine  polluted,  cries, 
"  I  loathe  thee  "  :  yet  not  less,  O  Guinevere, 
For  I  was  ever  virgin  save  for  thee. 
My  love  through  flesh  hath  wrought  into  my  life 
So  far,  that  my  doom  is,  I  love  thee  still. 
Let  no  man  dream  but  that  I  love  thee  still. 
Perchance,  and  so  thou  purify  thy  soul. 
And  so  thou  lean  on  our  fair  father  Christ, 
Hereafter  in  that  world  where  all  are  pure 
We  two  may  meet  before  high  God,  and  thou 
Wilt  spring  to  me,  and  claim  me  thine,  and  know 
I  am  thine  husband  —  not  a  smaller  soul, 
19* 


222  GUINEVERE. 

Nor  Lancelot,  nor  miotlier.     Leave  me  that, 

I  charge  thee,  my  last  hope.     Now  must  I  hence : 

Through  the  thick  night  I  hear  the  trumpet  blow  : 

They  summon  me  their  king  to  lead  mine  hosts 

Far  down  to  that  great  battle  in  the  west, 

Where  I  must  strike  against  my  sister's  son 

Leaofued  with  the  lords  of  the  White  Horse  and  kni^jhts 

Once  mine,  and  strike  him  dead,  and  meet  myself 

Death,  or  I  know  not  what  mysterious  doom. 

And  thou  remaining  here  wilt  learn  the  event, 

But  hither  shall  I  never  come  again, 

Never  lie  by  thy  side,  see  thee  no  more, 

FareweU ! " 

And  while  she  grovelled  at  his  feet, 
She  felt  the  King's  breath  wander  o'er  her  neck, 
And,  in  the  darkness  o'er  her  fallen  head. 
Perceived  the  waving  of  his  hands  that  blest. 

Then,  listening  till  those  armed  steps  were  gone, 
Rose  the  pale  Queen,  and  in  her  anguish  found 
The  casement :  "  Peradventure,"  so  she  thought, 
"  If  I  might  see  his  face,  and  not  be  seen." 
And  lo,  he  sat  on  horseback  at  the  door  ! 


GUINEVERE.  223 

And  near  him  the  sad  nuns  with  each  a  light 
Stood,  and  he  gave  them  charge  about  the  Queen, 
To  guard  and  foster  her  for  evermore. 
And  while  he  spake  to  these  his  helm  was  lowered, 
To  which  for  crest  the  golden  dragon  clung 
Of  Britain  ;  so  she  did  not  see  the  face, 
Which  then  Avas  as  an  angel's,  but  she  saw, 
"Wet  with  the  mists  and  smitten  by  the  lights. 
The  dragon  of  the  great  Pendragonship 
Blaze,  making  all  the  night  a  steam  of  fire. 
And  even  then  he  turned ;  and  more  and  more 
The  moony  vapor  rolling  round  the  King, 
Who  seemed  the  phantom  of  a  Giant  in  it, 
Enwound  him  fold  by  fold,  and  made  him  gray 
And  grayer,  till  himself  became  as  mist 
Before  her,  moving  ghostlilve  to  his  doom. 

Then  she  stretched  out  her  arms  and  cried  aloud, 
"  O  Arthur  !  "  there  her  voice  brake  suddenly, 
Then  —  as  a  stream  that  spouting  from  a  cliff 
Fails  in  mid-air,  but  gathering  at  the  base 
Remakes  itself,  and  flashes  down  the  vale  — 
Went  on  in  passionate  utterance. 


224  GUINEVERE. 

"  Gone  —  my  lord ! 
Gone  through  my  sin  to  slay  and  to  be  slain ! 
And  he  forgave  me,  and  I  could  not  speak. 
Farewell  ?     I  should  have  answered  his  farewell. 
His  mercy  choked  me.     Gone,  my  lord  the  king, 
My  own  true  lord !  how  dare  I  call  him  mine  ? 
The  shadow  of  another  cleaves  to  me, 
And  makes  me  one  pollution  :  he,  the  king, 
Called  me  polluted :  shall  I  kill  myself? 
What  help  in  that  ?     I  cannot  kill  my  sin, 
If  soul  be  soul ;  nor  can  I  kill  my  shame ; 
No,  nor  by  living  can  I  live  it  down. 
The  days  will  grow  to  weeks,  the  weeks  to  months. 
The  months  will  add  themselves  and  make  the  years, 
The  years  will  roll  into  the  centuries. 
And  mine  will  ever  be  a  name  of  scorn. 
I  must  not  dwell  on  that  defeat  of  fame. 
Let  the  world  be ;  that  is  but  of  the  world. 
What  else  ?  what  hope  ?     I  think  there  was  a  hope, 
Except  he  mocked  me  when  he  spake  of  hope ; 
His  hope  he  called  it ;  but  he  never  mocks, 
For  mockery  is  the  fume  of  little  hearts; 
And  blessed  be  the  king,  who  hath  forgiven 
My  wickedness  to  him,  and  left  me  hope 


GUINEVERE.  225 

That  in  mine  own  heart  I  can  live  down  sin 
And  be  his  mate  hereafter  in  the  heavens 
Before  high  God.     Ah  great  and  gentle  lord, 
Who  wast,  as  is  the  conscience  of  a  saint 
Among  his  warring  senses,  to  thy  knights  — 
To  whom  my  false  voluptuous  pride,  that  took 
Full  easily  all  impressions  from  below, 
Would  not  look  up,  or  half  despised  the  height 
To  which  I  would  not  or  I  could  not  climb  — 
I  thought  I  could  not  breathe  in  that  fine  air 
That  pure  severity  of  perfect  light  — 
I  wanted  warmth  and  color  which  I  found 
In  Lancelot  —  now  I  see  thee  what  thou  art, 
Thou  art  the  highest  and  most  human  too. 
Not  Lancelot  nor  another.     Is  there  none 
Will  tell  the  king  I  love  him  though  so  late  ? 
Now  ere  he  goes  to  the  great  Battle  ?  none : 
Myself  must  tell  him  in  that  purer  life. 
But  now  it  were  too  daring.     Ah  my  God, 
What  might  I  not  have  made  of  thy  fair  world. 
Had  I  but  loved  thy  highest  creature  here  ? 
It  was  my  duty  to  have  loved  the  highest : 
It  surely  was  my  profit  had  I  known : 
It  would  have  been  my  pleasure  had  I  seen. 


226  GUINEVERE. 

We  needs  must  love  the  highest  when  we  see  it, 
Not  Lancelot,  nor  another." 

Here  her  hand, 
Grasped,  made  her  vail  her  eyes :  she  looked  and  saw 
The  novice,  weeping,  suppliant,  and  said  to  her, 
"  Yea,  little  maid,  for  am  /  not  forgiven  ?  " 
Theiice  glancing  up  beheld  the  holy  nuns 
All  round  her,  weeping ;  and  her  heart  was  loosed 
Within  her,  and  she  wept  with  these  and  said : 

"  You  know  me  then,  that  wicked  one,  who  broke 
The  vast  design  and  purpose  of  the  King. 

0  shut  me  round  with  narrowing  nunnerj-walls, 
Meek  maidens,  from  the  voices  crying  '  Shame.' 

1  must  not  scorn  myself :  he  loves  me  still. 
Let  no  one  dream  but  that  he  loves  me  still. 
So  let  me,  if  you  do  not  shudder  at  me 
Nor  shun  to  call  me  sister,  dwell  with  you, 
Wear  black  and  white,  and  be  a  nun  like  you. 
Fast  with  your  fasts,  not  feasting  with  your  feasts, 
Grieve  with  your  griefs,  not  grieving  at  your  joys, 
But  not  rejoicing ;  mingle  with  your  rites  ; 

Pray  and  be  prayed  for,  lie  before  your  shrines. 


GUINEVERE.  227 

Do  each  low  office  of  your  holy  house, 

Walk  your  dim  cloister,  and  distribute  dole 

To  poor  sick  people,  richer  in  his  eyes 

"Who  ransomed  us,  and  haler  too  than  I, 

And  treat  their  loathsome  hurts  and  heal  mine  own, 

And  so  wear  out  in  almsdeed  and  in  prayer 

The  sombre  close  of  that  voluptuous  day, 

Which  wrought  the  ruin  of  my  lord  the  King."   - 

She  said :  they  took  her  to  themselves  ;  and  she 
Still  hoping,  fearing,  "  Is  it  yet  too  late  ?  " 
Dwelt  with  them,  till  in  time  their  Abbess  died, 
Then  she,  for  her  good  deeds  and  her  pure  life, 
And  for  the  power  of  ministration  in  her. 
And  likewise  for  the  high  rank  she  had  borne. 
Was  chosen  Abbess,  there,  an  Abbess,  lived 
For  three  brief  years,  and  there,  an  Abbess,  past 
To  where  beyond  these  voices  there  is  peace. 


THE    END. 


\X^  Any  books  in  this  list  will  be  sent  free  of  postage,  on  receipt 
of  price. 


Boston,  135  Washington  Street, 
July,  1859. 

A   LIST    OF   BOOKS 

PUBLISHED    BY 

TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS. 


Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Illustrated   Household   Edition  of   the  TVaver- 

LEY  Novels.    In  portable  size,  16mo.  form.    Xow  Complete. 
Price  75  cents  a  volume. 

The  paper  is  of  fine  quality;  the  stereotype  plates  are  not  old 
ones  repaired,  the  type  having  been  cast  expressly  for  this  edi- 
tion. The  Novels  are  illustrated  with  capital  steel  plates  en- 
graved in  the  best  manner,  after  drawings  and  paintings  by  the 
most  eminent  artists,  among  whom  are  Birket  Foster,  Darley,. 
Billings,  Landseer,  Harvey,  and  Faed.  This  Edition  contains 
all  the  latest  notes  and  corrections  of  the  author,  a  Glossary  and 
Index ;  and  some  curious  additions,  especially  in  "  Guy  Man- 
nering"  and  the  "Bride  of  Lammermoor;"  being  the  fullest 
edition  of  the  Novels  ever  published.  The  notes  are  at  the  foot 
of  the  page, — a  great  convenience  to  the  reader. 


Any  of  the  following  Novels  sold  separate. 

Waverley,  2  vols.  St.  Ronan's  Well,  2  vols. 

GiTY  Mannering.  2  vols.  Redgadntlet,  2  vols. 

The  Antiquary,  2  vols.  The  Betrothed,  )  9      , 

Rob  Roy,  2  vols.  The  Highland  ^yIDOW,    j  ■"  ^°'^- 

Old  Mortality,  2  vols.  The  Talisman,  "1 

Black  Dwarf,  \  9      ,     Two  Drovers,  | 

Legend  of  Montrose,    j  "         "  My  Aunt  Margaret's  Mirror,  }-2vo1s. 

Heart  of  Mid  LothLin.  2  vols.  The  Tapestried  Chamber,       I 

Bride  of  Lammermoor,  2  vols.    The  Laird  s  Jock.  J 

IvANHOE,  2  vols.  Woodstock,  2  vols. 

The  Monastery,  2  vols.  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  2  vols. 

The  Abbot,  2  vols.  Anne  of  Geierstein.  2  vols. 

Kenilworth,  2  vols.  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  2  vols. 

The  Pirate,  2  vols.  The  Surgeon-s  Daughter,  ) 

The  Fortunes  of  Nigel.  2  vols.  Castle  Dangerous,  J  2  vols 

Peveril  of  the  Peak,  2  vols.     Index  and  Glossary.         ) 

QUENTIN  DURWARD,   2  VOlS. 


2         A  Li§l  of  Books  Publifhed 
Thomas  De  Quincey. 

Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater,  and  Sus- 
PiRiA  DE  Profuxdis.     With  Portrait.     75  cents. 

Biographical  Essays.     75  cents. 

Miscellaneous  Essays.     75  cents. 

The  C^sars.     75  cents. 

Literary  Reminiscences.     2  vols.    $1.50. 

Narrative  AND  Miscellaneous  Papers.   2  vols.  $1.50 

Essays  on  the  Poets,  &c.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Historical  and  Critical  Essays.     2  vols.    SI. 50. 

Autobiographic  Sketches.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

Essays  on  Philosophical  Writers,  &c.  2  vols.  16mo. 
S1.50. 

Letters  to  a  Young  Man,  and  other  Papers.  1  vol. 
75  cents. 

Theological   Essays   and    other   Papers.      2   vols. 

$1.50. 

The  Note  Book.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Memorials  and  other  Papers.     2  vols.  16mo.    $1.50. 
The  Avenger  and  other  Papers.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Logic  of  Political  Economy,  and  other  Papers.     (In 
Press.) 


Alfred  Tennyson. 


Poetical  Works.    With  Portrait.    2  vols.    Cloth.   $2.00. 
Pocket  Edition  of  Poems  Complete.     75  cents. 
The  Princess.     Cloth.     50  cents. 
In  Memoriam.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
Maud,  and  other  Poems.     Cloth.     50  cents. 
The  True   and   the    False  :    Four    Idylls  of  the 
King.    A  new  volume.     Cloth.    75  cents. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Poems.    With  fine  Portrait.    Boards.    $1.00.    Cloth.  $1.12. 
AsTR^A.     Fancy  paper.     25  cents. 


by    TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  3 

Henry  W.  Longfellow. 

Poetical  Works.    In  two  volumes.  16mo.  Boards.  $2.00. 
Pocket  Edition  of  Poetical  Works.    In  two  volumes. 

$1.75. 
Pocket  Edition  of  Prose  Works  Complete.     In  two 

volumes.    $1.75. 
The  Song  of  Hiawatha.    $1,00. 
Evangeline  :  A  Tale  of  Acadie.     75  cents. 
The  Golden  Legend.     A  Poem.    $1.00. 
Hyperion.     A  Romance.    $1.00. 
Outre-Mer.     a  Pilgrimage.    $1.00. 
Kavanagh.     a  Tale.     75  cents. 
The    Courtship   of    Miles   Standish.     1  vol.     16mo. 

75  cents. 
Illustrated  editions  of  Evangeline.  Poems,  Hyperion, 
The  Golden  Legend,  and  Miles  Standish. 

Charles  Reade. 

Peg  Woffington.    A  Novel.     75  cents. 

Christie  Johnstone.    A  Novel.     75  cents. 

Clouds  and  Sunshine.     A  Novel.     75  cents. 

'  Never  too  late  to  mend.'     2  vols.     $1.50. 

White  Lies.     A  Novel.     1  vol.     $1.25. 

Propria  Qu^  Maribus  and  The  Box  Tunnel.     25  cts. 

William  Howitt. 

Land,  Labor,  and  Gold.     2  vols.    $2.00. 

A  Boy's  Adventures  in  Australia.     75  cents. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 

Complete  Poetical  Works.   In  Blue  and  Gold.   2  vols. 

$1.50. 

Poetical   Works.     2  vols.     16mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 
Sir  Launfal.     New  Edition.     25  cents. 
A  Fable  for  Critics.    New  Edition.     50  cents. 
The  Biglow  Papers.     A  New  Edition.     63  cents. 


4  A  LiSl  of  Books  Publiflied 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Twice-Told  Tales.     Two  volumes.    $1.50. 

The  Scarlet  Letter.     75  cents. 

The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables.    $1.00. 

The    Snow   Image,  and   other  Tales.     75  cents. 

The  Blithedale  Romance.     75  cents. 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse.     2  vols.     $1.50. 

True  Stories  from  History  and  Biography.    With 

four  fine  Engravings.     75  cents. 
A  AVonder-Book  for  Girls  and  Boys.     With  seven 

fine  Engravings.     75  cents. 
Tanglewood  Tales.     Another  "  Wonder-Book."    With 

Engi-avings.     88  cents. 

Barry  Cornwall. 

English  Songs  and  other  Small  Poems.    $1.00. 
Dramatic  Poems.    Just  published.     $1.00. 
Essays  and  Tales  in  Prose.     2  vols.    $1.50. 

Charles  Kingsley. 

Two  Years  Ago.     A  New  Novel.    $1.25. 

Amyas  Leigh.     A  Novel      $1.25. 

Glaucus  ;  OR,  THE  Wonders  of  the  Shore.    50  cts. 

Poetical  Works.     75  cents. 

The  Heroes  •,  or,  Greek  Fairy  Tales.     75  cents. 

Andromeda  and  other  Poems.    50  cents. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  his  Time,  &c.    $1.25. 

Coventry  Patmore. 

The  Angel  in  the  House.    Betrothal. 
«        "  "  "  Espousals.     75  cts.  each. 

Charles  Sumner. 

Orations  and  Speeches.     2  vols.    $2.50. 
Recent  Speeches  and  Addresses.    $1.25. 


by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  5 

John  G.   Whittier. 

Pocket  Edition  of  Poetical  Works.    2  vols.    $1  50. 

Old  Portraits  axd  Modern  Sketches.     75  cents. 

Margaret  Smith's  Journal.     75  cents. 

Songs  of  Labor,  and  other  Poems.    Boards.    50  cts. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Hermits.     Cloth.     50  cents. 

Literary  Recreations,  &c.     Cloth.    $^1.00. 

The  Panorama,  and  other  Poems.     Cloth.     50  cents. 


Alexander  Smith. 

A  Life  Drama.     1  vol.     16mo.     50  cents. 

City  Poems.    With  Portrait.     1  vol.     16mo.     63  cents. 

Bayard  Taylor. 

Poems  of  Home  and  Travel.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
Poems  of  the  Orient.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

Edwin   P.  Whipple. 

Essays  and  Reviews.     2  vols.    $2.00. 
Lectures  on  Literature  and  Life.     63  cents. 
Washington  and  the  Revolution.     20  cents. 

George  S.   Hillard. 

Six  Months  in  Italy.     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.50. 

Dangers  and  Duties  of  the  Mercantile  Profes- 
sion.   25  cents. 

Selections  from  the  Writings  of  Walter  Savage 
Laxdor.     1  vol.     16mo.    75  cents. 

Robert  Browning. 

Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $2.00. 
Men  and  Women.     1  vol.    $1.00. 


6         A  Lia  of  Books  Publimed 
Henry  Giles. 

Lectures,  Essays,  &c.    2  vols.    $1.50. 
Discourses  on  Life.     75  cents. 
Illustrations  of  Genius.    Cloth.    SI. 00. 

William  Motherwell. 

Complete  Poetical  Works.    In  Blue  and  Gold.    1  vol. 

75  cents. 
Minstrelsy,  Anc.  and  Mod.     2  vols.    Boards.    $1.50. 

Capt.  Mayne  Reid. 

The  Plant  Hunters.     With  Plates.     75  cents. 

The  Desert  Home  :  or,  The  Adventures  of  a  Lost 

Family  in  the  Wilderness.     With  fine  Plates.    $1.00. 
The  Boy  Hunters.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The  Young  Voyageurs  :   or,  The  Boy  Hunters  in 

THE  NoKTH.     With  Plates.    75  cents. 
The  Forest  Exiles.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The  Bush  Boys.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The  Young  Yagers.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
Ran  Away  to  Sea  :   An  Autobiography  for  Boys. 

With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The   Boy   Tar:    A  Voyage  in  the   Dark.    A  JSIew 

Book.    (In  Press.) 

Goethe. 

Wilhelm    Meister.      Translated    by    Carlyle.     2  vols. 

$2.50. 
Faust.     Translated  by  Hmjicard.     75  cents. 
Faust.     Translated  by  Charles  T.  BrooJcs.     $1.00. 
Correspondence  with  a  Child.    Bettini.     (In  Press.) 

Rev.  Charles  Lowell. 

Practical  Sermons.     1  vol.     12mo.    $1.25. 
Occasional  Sermons.    With  fine  Portrait.    $1.25. 


by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS. 


Rev.  F.  W.  Robertson. 

Sermons. 

First  Series.     $1.00. 

u      • 

Second    "         $1.00. 

<( 

Third       "         SI. 00. 

(( 

Fourth    "         $1.00.     (In  Press.) 

Lectures  and  Addresses  on  Literary  and  Social 

Topics.    31.00. 


R.  H.  Stoddard. 


Poems.     Cloth.     63  cents. 

Adventures  in  Fairy  Land.     75  cents. 

Songs  of  Summer.     75  cents. 

George  Lunt. 

Lyric  Poems,  &c.     Cloth.    63  cents. 

Julia.    A  Poem.     50  cents. 

Three  Eras  of  New  England.    $1.00. 

Philip  James  Bailey. 

The  Mystic,  and  other  Poems.    50  cents. 
The  Angel  World,  &c.    50  cents. 
The  Age,  a  Satire.     75  cents. 

Anna  Mary  Howitt. 

An  Art  Student  in  Munich.    $1.25. 
A  School  of  Life.     A  Story.     75  cents. 

Mary  Russell  Mitford. 

Our  Village.     Elustrated.     2  vols.     16mo.    $2.50. 
Atherton,  and  other  Stories.     1  vol.     16mo.    Si. 25. 

Josiah  Phillips  Quincy. 

Lyteria  :  A  Dramatic  Poem.     50  cents. 
Charicles  :  a  Dramatic  Poem.    50  cents. 


A  Lia  of  Books  Publifhed 


Grace  Greenwood. 

Greenwood  Leaves.  1st  &  2d  Series.     $1.25  each. 

Poetical  Works.    With  fine  Portrait.     75  cent^. 

History  of  My  Pets.  With  six  fine  Engravings.  Scarlet 
cloth.     50  cents. 

Recollections  of  My  Childhood.  With  six  fine  En- 
gravings.    Scai-let  cloth.    50  cents. 

Haps  and  Mishaps  of  a  Tour  in  Europe.    $1.25. 

Merrie  England.     A  new  Juvenile.     75  cents. 

A  Forest  Tragedy,  and  other  Tales.    $1.00. 

Stories  and  Legends.     A  new  Juvenile.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  Crosland. 

Lydia  :  A  Woman's  Book.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
English  Tales  and  Sketches.     Cloth.    $1.00. 
Memorable  Women.    Illustrated.     $1.00. 


Mrs.  Jameson. 


Characteristics  of  Women. 
Loves  of  the  Poets. 
Diary  of  an  Ennuyee 
Sketches  of  Art,  &e. 
Studies  and  Stories. 
Italian  Painters. 


51U( 

3  and  Gold. 

75  cents. 

75  cents. 

75  cents. 

75  cents. 

75  cents. 

75  cents. 

Mrs.  Mowatt. 


Autobiography  of  an  Actress.    $1.25. 
Plays.     Armand  and  Fashion.    50  cents. 
Mimic  Life.     1  vol.    $1.25. 
The  Tavin  Roses.     1  vol.     75  cents. 


Mrs.   Howe. 

Passion  Flowers.     75  cents. 
Words  for  the  Hour.     75  cents. 
The  World's  Own.     50  cents. 


by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  9 

Alice  Gary. 

Poems.     1  vol.    16mo.    $1.00. 

Clovernook  Children.     With  Plates.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  Eliza  B.  Lee. 

Memoir  of  the  Buckminsters.    $1.25. 
Florence,  the  Parish  Orphan.     50  cents. 
Parthenia.     1  vol.     16  mo.     $1.00. 

Samuel  Smiles. 

Life  of  George   Stephenson  :   Engineer.    $1.00. 

Blanchard  Jerrold. 

Douglas  Jerrold's  Wit.     75  cents. 

Life  and  Letters  of  Douglas  Jerrold.    $1.00. 

Mrs.  Judson. 

Alderbrook.     By  Fanny  Forrester.     2  vols.     $1.75. 
The  Kathayan  Slave,  and  Other  Papers.    1  vol. 

63  cents. 

My  Two  Sisters  :  a  Sketch  from  Memory.    50  cents. 

Trelawny. 

Recollections  of  Shelley  and  Byron.     75  cents. 


Charles  Sprague. 


Poetical   and  Prose  Writings.     With  fine  Portrait. 
Boards.    75  cents. 


Mrs.  Lawrence. 


Light   on  the  Dark  River  :  or  Memoirs  of  Mrs. 

Hamlin.    1  vol.    16mo.     Cloth.    $1.00. 


lo       A  U§t  of  Books  Publidied 
G.  A.  Sala. 

A  Journey  due  North.    $1.00. 

Thomas  W.  Parsons. 

Poems.    $1.00. 

John  G.  Saxe. 

Poems.   With  Portrait.   Boards.   63  cents.   Cloth.    75  cents. 
The  Money  King,  and  other  Poems.     (In  Press.) 

Charles  T.  Brooks. 

German  Lyrics.   Translated.   1  vol.   16mo.  Cloth.  $1.00. 

Samuel  Bailey. 

Essays  on  the  Formation  of  Opinions  and  the 
Pursuit  of  Truth.    1  vol.    16mo.    $1.00. 

Tom  Brown. 

School  Days  AT  Rugby.   Bj  An  Old  Boy.   1vol.   16mo. 

$1.00. 

The  Scouring  of  the  White  Horse,  or  the  Long 
VACATION  Holiday  of  a  London  Clerk.  By  The  Author 
of  '  School  Days  at  Rugby.'     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.00. 

Leigh  Hunt. 

Poems.    Blue  and  Gold.     2  vols.    $1.50. 

Gerald  Massey. 

Poetical  Works.     Blue  and  Gold.     75  cents. 

C.  W.  Upham. 

John  C.  Fremont's  Life,  Explorations,  &c.  With  Il- 
lustrations.   75  cents. 


by    TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 

Ballads.    1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Charles  Mackay. 

Poems.    1  vol.    Cloth.    $1.00. 

Henry  Alford. 

Poems.    Si. 25. 

Richard   Monckton  Milnes. 

Poems  of  Many  Years.    Boards.     75  cents. 

George  H.  Boker. 

Plays  and  Poems.    2  vols.    $2.00. 

Matthew  Arnold. 

Poems.     75  cents. 

W.  Edmondstoune  Aytoun. 

Bothwell.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  Rosa  V.  Johnson. 

Poems.     1  vol.    16mo.    $1.00. 

Henry  T.  Tuckerman. 

Poems.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

William  Mou'ntford. 

Thorpe  :  A  Quiet  English  Town,  and  Human  Life 

THEREIN.      16mO.      $1.00. 


12       A  Lift  of  Books  Publilhed 
James  G.  Percival. 

Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    Blue  and  Gold.     $1.75.. 

John  Bowring. 

Matins  and  Vespers.     Blue  and  Gold.     75  cents. 

Yriarte. 

Fables.     Translated  by  G.  H.  Devereux.     63  cents. 

Phoebe  Gary. 

Poems  and  Parodies.     75  cents. 

Paul  H.  Hayne. 

Poems.     1  vol.     16mo.     63  cents. 

Mrs.  A.  C.  Lowell. 

Seed-Grain  for  Thought  and  Discussion.     2  vols. 

^1.75. 
Education  of  Girls.    25  cents. 

G.  H.  Lewes. 

The  Life  and  Works  of  Goethe.   2  vols.   16mo.  $2.50. 

Lieut.  Arnold. 

Oakfield.     a  Novel.     $1.00. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau. 

Walden:  or,  Life  in  the  Woods.   1vol.   16mo.  $1.00. 

Washington  Allston. 

MoNALDi,  A  Tale.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Professor  E.  T.  Channing. 

Lectures  on  Oratory  and  Rhetoric.     75  cents. 


by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  13 

Dr.  Walter  Channing. 

A  Physician's  Vacation.    $1.50. 

Mrs.  Horace  Mann. 

A  Physiological  Cookery  Book.     63  cents. 

Arthur  P.  Stanley. 

Life  and  Correspondence  of  Dr.  Arnold.  (In  Press.) 

Christopher  Wordsworth. 

William  Wordsworth's  Biography.     2  vols.    $2.50. 

Henry  Taylor. 

Notes  from  Life.    By  the  Author  of  "  Philip  Van  Arte- 
velde."    1  vol.    16mo.    Cloth.    63  cents. 

Hufeland. 

Art  of  Prolonging  Life.     Edited  by  Erasmus  Wilson, 
1  vol.     16mo.    75  cents. 

Henry  Kingsley. 

Recollections  of  Geoffry  Hamlyn.  A  Novel.  $1.25. 

Dr.  John  C.  Warren. 

The  Preservation  of  Health,  &c.     1  vol.     38  cents. 

James  Prior. 

Life  of  Edmund  Burke.     2  vols.    $2.00. 

Joseph  T.  Buckingham. 

Personal  Memoirs  and   Becollections   of   Edito- 
EIAL  Life.     With  Portrait.    2  vols.     16mo.     $1.50. 


14       A  LiSl  of  Books  Publifhed 
Bayle  St.  John. 

Village  Life  in  Egypt.      By  the  Author  of  "  Purple 

Tints  of  Paris."     2  vols.     16mo.     $1.25. 

Edmund  Quincy. 

Wensley  :  A  Story  without  a  Moral.     75  cents. 

Henry  Morley. 

Palissy  the  Potter.     By  the  Author  of  "  How  to  make 

Home  Unhealthy."     2  vols.    16mo.     $1.50. 

Goldsmith. 

The  Yicar  of  Wakefield.    Illustrated  Edition.    $3.00. 

C.  A.  Bartol. 

Church  and  Congregation.    $1.00. 

Mrs.  H.  G.  Otis. 

The  Barclays  of  Boston.     1  vol.     12mo.     $1.25. 

Horace  Mann. 

Thoughts  for  a  Young  Man.    25  cents. 

Addison. 

Sir    "Roger    de    Coverley.      From    the    "  Spectator." 
75  cents. 

F.  W.  P.  Greenwood. 

Sermons  of  Consolation.    $1.00. 

S.  T.  Wallis. 

Spain,  her  Institutions,  Politics,  and  Public  Men. 

$1.00. 


by    TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  I  5 

Theophilus    Parsons. 

A  Memoir  of  Chief  Justice  Theophilus  Parsons, 

WITH  Notices  of   some  of  his  Contemporaries.     By  his 
Son.    With  Portrait.     1  vol.    12 mo.    $1.50. 


Dr.  William  E.  Coale. 

Hints  on  Health.    3d  Edition.    63  cents. 


Lady  Shelley. 


Shelley  Memorials.    From  Authentic  Sources.     1  vol. 

Cloth.     75  cents. 

Lord   DufFerin. 

A  Yacht  Voyage  of  6,000  Miles.    Sl.OO. 

Fanny  Kemble. 

Poems.     Enlarged  Edition.    Sl.OO. 

Owen  Meredith. 

Poetical  Works.     Blue  and  Gold.     76  cents. 


Arago. 


Biographies     of    Distinguished    Scientific    Men. 

16mo.     2  vols.     $2.00. 

William    Smith. 

Thorndale,  or  the  Conflict  of  Opinions.    $1.25. 

R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

To  Cuba  and  Back,  a  Vacation  Voyage,  by  the  Author  of 
"  Two  Years  before  the  Mast."    75  cents. 


16       A  LiSl  of  Books  Publifhed. 


The  Life  and  Times  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.      1  vol. 

16mo.     $1.00. 
Ernest  Carroll,  or  Artist  Life  in  Italy.      1  vol. 

16mo.    88  cents. 
Christmas  Hours.     By  the  Author  of  "  The  Homeward 

Path,"  &c.     1  vol.     16mo.     50  cents. 

Memory  and  Hope.     Cloth.    $2.00. 
Thalatta;  a  Book  for  the  Seaside.     75  cents. 
Rejected  Addresses.    A  new  edition.    Cloth.    75  cents. 
Warreniana  ;     a    Companion    to     Rejected     Ad- 

DKESSES.     63  cents. 
Angel  Voices.     38  cents. 
The  Boston  Book.    $1.25. 
Memoir  of  Robert  Wheaton.     1  vol.    Si. 00. 
Labor  and  Love  :  A  Tale  of  English  Life.     50  cts. 
The  Solitary  of  Juan  Fernandez.     By  the  Author 

of  Picciola.    50  cents. 

In  Blue  and  Gold. 

Longfellow's  Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $1.75. 

do.  Prose  Works.     2  vols.    $1.75. 

Tennyson's  Poetical  Works.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Whittier's  Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
Leigh  Hunt's  Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
Gerald  Massey's  Poetical  Works.     1  vol.    75  cents. 
Mrs.  Jameson's  Characteristics  of  Women.   75  cts. 

do.  Diary  of  an  Ennuyee     1  vol.   75  cts. 

do.  Loves  of  the  Poets.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  Sketches  of  Art,  &c.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  Studies  and  Stories.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  Italian  Painters.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

Owen  Meredith's  Poems.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Bowring's  Matins  and  Vespers.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Lowell's  (J.  Russell)  Poetical  Works.  2  vols.  $1.50 
Percival's  Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $1.75. 
Motherwell's  Poems.     1  vol.     75  cents. 


••  <*   »>r^"*^i-^ 


14  DAY  USE 

RFTURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recalL 


JON  10^65  A 


ftUSlO  19697  a 


RECEIVED 


RE^C'D  LC> 


JUL  3 1  -69  -5  Pi^l 


^^y2F^'B5-,2 


% 


qaM    P 


JAN  2     1988 


V'ni    ^ 


MiM 


RETO    S£P8     1* 


*i-«e^ 


^-^1*^ 


tTl' 


pr 


MAR  2  0  1969  23 


RECEIVED 


fe'gS 


:a .?:  P!'^ 


LD  2IA-60 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CDEDIDMBDt, 


M175521 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


